








Class 

Book-JoSS_ 

Gopight N?___ 


COEffUGlIT DEPOSED 
















THE GLORY OF HIS ROBE 

EDWARD JOHN STOBO, m.a., s.t.d. 



At last with evening as I turned 
Homeward, and thought what I had learned, 
And all that there was still to probe . . . 
Where the last fires of sunset burned 
I caught the glory of His robe. 

—Bliss Carman. 


THE 

GLORY OF HIS ROBE 

Meditations for the Quiet Hour 


BY 

EDWARD JOHN STOBO 

M.A., S.T.D. 


NEW 


YORK 


GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 





COPYRIGHT, 1922, 

BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY 


I 


f 

€ < 
t 


i 

* 

c 


THE GLORY OF HIS ROBE. II. 


PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 


JAN -9 '23 

©CU692786 

S7 '? \ . / * 





CONTENTS 


i 

ii 

hi 

IV 

V 

VI 

VII 

VIII 

IX 

X 

XI 

XII 

XIII 

XIV 
XV 

XVI 

XVII 

XVIII 

XIX 

XX 

XXI 

XXII 

XXIII 

XXIV 
XXV 

XXVI 


THE FACT OF CONVERSION .... 
THE WORTH OF A SMILE .... 
“COME . . . AND REST A WHILE” . 

HOW MEN MAKE LIFE’S GREAT DECISION . 
THE RELIGIOUS VALUE OF HUMOUR . 

THE REALITY OF REGENERATION 
LOOKING FOR TO-MORROW MORNING . 
SOME THINGS TO THINK ABOUT 
THE CHRISTIAN SPIRIT .... 

“AS THY DAYS SO SHALL THY STRENGTH 
BE”. 

FORGIVING ONE ANOTHER .... 
MY FRIEND, THE MINISTER 
THE MINISTER’S WIFE .... 
HAVE FAITH IN YOUR FELLOW-MEN 

THE SOUL’S OUTLOOK. 

PAIN AND ITS COMPENSATIONS . 

THE MESSAGE OF “THE ANGELUS” . 

WORRY. 

OILING THE HINGES OF THE CHURCH DOOR 
HOW THE PEW MAY HELP THE PULPIT . 
WHY DO FOLKS DEMAND SHORT SERMONS? 
PUTTING THE EMPHASIS IN THE RIGHT 

PLACE . 

HOW GOD COMFORTS. 

THE SOUL’S BATTLEFIELD .... 
SHOWING RELIGION AT HOME . 

HOW TO OBTAIN GREAT LEADERS 

[v] 


PAGE 

9 

14 

19 

23 

28 

35 

40 

45 

50 

56 

61 

66 

72 

77 

82 

87 

92 

98 

104 

109 

115 

121 

126 

131 

136 

141 





Contents 


XXVII THE SHADOWS WHICH WE CAST 
XXVIII OUR HARD DAYS . 

XXIX THE ESSENCE OF PROFANITY 
XXX FORESIGHT AND HINDSIGHT 
XXXI MARTHA, THE HOMEMAKER 
XXXII THE PRODIGAL’S BROTHER . 

XXXIII TEMPERS OF VARIOUS KINDS 
XXXIV SIMPLE FIDELITY . 

XXXV THE SURPRISE OF APPRECIATION 
XXXVI THE APPEAL OF THE CHILDREN 
XXXVII THE PERVERSITY OF HUMAN NATURE 
XXXVIII THE RELIGIOUS PERIPATETIC 
XXXIX THE LORD’S CALF .... 

XL SPEAK TO YOUR MINISTER . 

XLI WHY I GO TO CHURCH . 

XLII “i HAD BETTER BE A DOOR-KEEPER’ 

XLIII THE RE-BIRTH OF RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM 
XLIV IN THE CLOUDY AND DARK DAY 
XLV CURVATURE OF THE SOUL . 

XLVI THE WONDER OF IT 
XLVII OUR LOAD-LIMIT . 

XLVIII AN ATTRACTIVE RELIGION . 

XLIX THE CARE OF GOD 

L THE TRANSFORMING TOUCH 


PAGE 

147 

152 

156 

162 

167 

172 

177 

182 

187 

192 

197 

203 

209 

215 

221 

226 

231 

236 

241 

245 

250 

255 

260 

265 


[vi] 





THE GLORY OF HIS ROBE 



THE 

GLORY OF HIS ROBE 


I 

THE FACT OF CONVERSION 

S OME years ago, Professor George Jackson wrote 
a scholarly and helpful book upon this subject. I 
used to have a copy of it; but ownership and possession 
are not identical. Some unknown book borrower is in 
possession of the book, but I own it still. That owner¬ 
ship profits me nothing at the present moment, for the 
other man is receiving all the benefits which accrue 
from “being seized of” that little volume. I am hoping 
that should he peruse this book, he may call to remem¬ 
brance a fact that occasioned a miracle to be performed 
to ensure the return of a lost axe-head: “Alas, Master! 
It was borrowed.” 

Conversion is a fact which every honest soul must 
reckon with. All about him there are men and women, 
who claim to have experienced a wonderful inner 
change which .they call conversion. He hears the Sal¬ 
vation Army shouting out their experiences upon the 
street corner: and the earnestness of the men and 
women, who wear the uniform and march under the 

[9] 


The Glory of His Robe 

“blood and fire flag,” together with their proved love 
for the unfortunate and the fallen, gives point to their 
testimony. The most colossal and unbending thing to 
face is a fact; and the men and women, who tell their 
experiences upon the street corner deal, not with theory 
but with fact, so they say. An honest soul should listen 
with respect, and ponder the claims which they make. 

An old Scotch farmer is reported to have said to his 
new minister: “We have doots aneuch noo. Tell us, 
mon, what ye know.” There are some things which 
the preacher cannot be expected to know; but it is 
reasonable to expect that any preacher or religious 
journalist should be able to satisfactorily answer such 
a question as: “Do you know the forgiveness of sins ? 
Have you experienced what some folks call conver¬ 
sion?” No man should get on his dignity when a 
seeking soul asks that; for preaching is, first and fore¬ 
most, a personal testimony. “We preach that we do 
know and testify that we have seen,” says the Apostle 
Paul. Take the ring of personal certainty out of the 
preacher’s message, and it is not worth listening to. 
The herald of the gospel makes a demand for faith; 
but faith is not credulity. Our hope is not a brilliant 
and shadowy “perhaps.” It is an assurance, a con¬ 
viction. We want to be held in the grip of a great cer¬ 
tainty. We love the message which is like an echo 
from Paul’s Roman prison: “I know Whom I have be¬ 
lieved, and I am persuaded that He is able to keep that 
which I have committed to Him against that day.” 
The realm of religious experience is not a realm of 
theory but a realm of fact. Thus it is that the average 


The Fact of Conversion 

man is justified in asking public teachers what they 
know about it. 

The observant individual cannot fail to notice that 
certain lives have a strange sweetness, a wondrous 
charm, a helpfulness and sympathy that has to be ac¬ 
counted for somehow. It is impossible to explain 
such a life as that of “Mother Davis” of the Yonge 
Street Mission upon the assumption that she was just 
naturally philanthropic. That is not the claim which 
she herself made. It is not the explanation given by 
the multitudes who looked upon her coffin last Thurs¬ 
day week. They know that the secret of that beautiful 
life of service lies in the fact that she had met with 
Christ. She never wearied of telling what a marvel¬ 
lous and soul-satisfying thing is a Christian experience. 

It is worthy of remembrance that men, who have the 
scientist’s instinct for facts, have a great deal of respect 
for that “sudden, enduring and extraordinary change 
which St. Augustine and all the other Fathers call con¬ 
version.” Professor George Romanes, when he was 
slowly finding his way back to the Christian faith, 
made use of the language just quoted, and admitted 
that it was reasonable to be a Christian believer. Be¬ 
fore his death, this brilliant scholar came into full de¬ 
liberate communion with Jesus Christ for Whom his 
heart had long yearned. 

I am using the word “conversion” in the sense that 
the average man uses it. These chapters have noth¬ 
ing to do with theological hair-splitting. Many cen¬ 
turies ago, two famous Apostles, Peter and John, 
healed a lame man in Jerusalem at the Gate Beautiful. 

[ii] 


The Glory of His Robe 

It created a mighty stir, for he was a well-known char¬ 
acter—a beggar, who had, for many a year, solicited 
alms of the visitors to the Jewish Temple. In the esti¬ 
mation of the Apostles, the psychological moment had 
arrived in which to testify to the power of the risen 
Lord, and “they preached in Jesus the resurrection 
from the dead.” That subject was a controverted one. 
The Saviour, through whom the possibility of such a 
resurrection was proclaimed, had recently been exe¬ 
cuted upon a charge of treason. The ecclesiastical the¬ 
ology was at stake. The justice of the Roman Admin¬ 
istration seemed to be called in question. The men on 
the Bench, whose duty it was to try Peter and John 
as disturbers of the peace, had a mighty problem upon 
their hands, and, at the centre of it, was a fact. Listen 
to them consulting! “A notable miracle hath been 
wrought through them. It is manifest to all that dwell 
in Jerusalem. We cannot deny it.” The spirit of this 
exclamation may be applied to every genuine, life-trans¬ 
forming conversion which we witness. We cannot 
deny it. 

Conversion is the soul’s return to God, and the re¬ 
turn is always by the way of that cross upon which the 
“scarred Brother of suffering men” poured out His 
life. The awful transaction upon Calvary has a very 
real and vital relationship to our turning to the Saviour 
of sinners for forgiveness and renewal. 

Conversion takes many forms; but we have no right 
to declare that any soul is outside of the Kingdom just 
because he has not the identical experience which we 
have. Conversion has a life to show as the result of it. 

[ 12 ] 


The Fact of Conversion 

In the words of Romanes, conversion is “not a mere 
change of belief or of opinion. The point is that it is 
a modification of character.” It is far easier to detect 
a modification of character in one who has been known 
as a hardened sinner, than in another man, who has 
lived a moral life, been a good husband, kind father and 
worthy citizen. Hence many a preacher, in his anxiety 
to illustrate what conversion does for a man, is apt to 
gather his examples from the notorious sinners whom 
the Lord has graciously pardoned, and to forget that 
He has also received little children, lovely maidens, 
noble youths, women like Dorcas, “full of good works 
and alms deeds which she did,” and men like Cornelius 
of Caesarea, “a devout man, one that feared God with 
all his house, who gave much alms to the people and 
prayed to God always.” It is because so many preach¬ 
ers gather their illustrations from such books as Bun- 
yan’s “Pilgrim’s Progress” and Harold Begbie’s 
“Twice-Born Men” that many of their hearers feel 
that, for some reason, the message has no gripping 
power. It does not “get home to their hearts and 
bosoms.” But the parson’s failure to bring the mes¬ 
sage home to his hearers does not invalidate the fact— 
There is such a thing as conversion. “We cannot 
deny it.” 


THE WORTH OF A SMILE 


LITTLE while ago, in an Eastern Ontario town, 



n at a meeting of a Sunshine club, this story was 
told by one of the speakers: A young lad in the United 
States somewhere, was out nutting, and, in his quest, 
had climbed a tree. He came into contact with an 
electric wire which had been run through the foliage 
and was hidden from all but the very observant. The 
wire also was not properly insulated, and the poor 
laddie’s face was burned. It was not a very deep scar, 
but it came in a very bad place. His father sued the 
electric light company and got $20,000 for his son, 
and the whole countryside was amused. A little scar 
upon a boy’s face, $20,000! Absurd!! Yes, but re¬ 
member another element that entered into the decision. 
The nerve which controlled the smile-muscle was de¬ 
stroyed, and the poor laddie could not smile any more. 
The jury gravely considered the loss the laddie had 
sustained, and estimated the damages at $20,000. 
Now, I have not told the story as it is told down East, 
but I have given the heart of the anecdote, and perhaps 
you agree with me that it is a most unfortunate thing 
to lose your smile. 

You are all aware that a dog smiles by means of 


The Worth of a Smile 

his tail, and that the old Dutchman, when offered 
twenty-five dollars for his dog, declared that he would 
not sell “von vag of his leetle tail” for the money; and 
that some children have a wonderful bright smile that L 
makes its way into the very depth of your soul. You 
cannot resist the child with such a smile. You get to 
look for it; you seek to coax it out; you like to meditate 
upon it; and, if the child is yours, you boast just a wee 
bit about the joy in your baby’s voice and the sunshine ^ 
of his smile. 

My! You feel strange when you have lost the 
power to smile. I am doing pretty well now, but a 
while ago a stroke of paralysis put the muscles of one 
side of my face out of business and I just couldn’t 
smile. As I like to smile sometimes it did seem 
strange every time my eyes began to twinkle that the 
corners of my mouth should not act in sympathy with 
my eyes. One day, however, a little child after watch¬ 
ing me intently, said: “Don’t believe him. He doesn’t 
mean it. Just see the twinkle in his eye!” It was a 
great comfort to feel that the eye can express the feel¬ 
ings of the soul when the face is unable to assist it 
very much; but it is a greater comfort to feel that both 
are in good working order and are fitting instruments 
wherewith the soul can work. I do not wonder that 
the American judge assessed the value of that laddie’s 
smile at $20,000. 

Is it not wonderful what power some smiles wield? 

A father last summer was telling me of the smartness 
of his baby, and then he asked: “Don’t you think your¬ 
self that he has a very sweet smile ?” Wh?t would you i "~ 

[15] 


The Glory of His Robe 


I 


{ 


think if a baby’s father, a hardheaded business man, 
should ask you such a question? Would you seek the 
dark shades of opposition, even in July, just to remind 
the baby’s dad that babies are much alike? Well, I 
didn’t that time; for the baby has a sweet smile and 
his daddy knew it, and his aunties were ready to pro¬ 
claim it. When his father, rather timidly enquired 
again, “But you do think he has a nice smile?” what 
was there left for me to do but gather up all the en¬ 
thusiasm I had at hand just at that moment and put it 
into my voice, and declare without blinking an eye: 
“Of course, any one with half an eye can see that little 
Billy has a sweet smile ?” I know that he will not agree 
with the American “smile” verdict, for I have a shrewd 
suspicion that he appraises little Billy’s smile in terms 
which would rather stagger fathers of a dozen sturdy 
youngsters. Yet I do like to hear a man express his 
feelings regarding the little ones that call him “Father.” 
A man that loves his children is generally a good man, 
and, more than that, the children love him. Don’t you 
like to visit at such a house? 

A smile is a commercial asset. A merchant once 
said to me: “I want a clerk. Do you know some young 
fellow you can honestly recommend?” I named one 
for whose honesty I could vouch, but he was such a 
gloomy soul that you might imagine that he had been 
brought up in a mountain region, where the clouds 
were always dark and not a few accompanied by thun¬ 
derstorms. That young chap’s face was his “misfor¬ 
tune” not his fortune, and the merchant just gave it 
one look. And yet there are some folks who declare 

[16] 


The Worth of a Smile 

that it is nobody’s business whether they look pleasant 
or not. They forget that it is their own, and that, q 
when they stop smiling, they aid in making the com- 
munity mournful, and as citizens they ought to en¬ 
deavor to add to the happiness of their fellow-citizens. 

“The English royal family has always been regarded 
with a great deal of enthusiasm and affection by the 
mass of the British people. What is the secret of it? 

I have sometimes wondered why, in these days of so 
much change, a reigning house should hold the 
hearts of the people so well, but I have been thinking 
that the members of the royal family are richly en¬ 
dowed in the matter of power to smile. The Prince 
of Wales possesses that power. One day, down in 
the Ancient Capital, he was driving through a section 
of the city which had been appropriated by the Irish. 
An old lady was out to behold the heir to the throne, 
and you know that, in these days, Irish folks are not 
particularly enthusiastic concerning kings and thrones 
and oaths of allegiance. That, however, does not eradi¬ 
cate the bump of curiosity that is a woman’s peculiar 
possession. Well, this old lady was caught in a crowd, 
and could not see His Royal Highness. Somebody, 
however, noticed her disappointment and touched the 
Prince’s arm at the time that the old lady’s hopes 
seemed to be doomed, and he turned and gave that 
old woman a smile that will linger in her memory until 
her life goes out and, in the meantime, will transform 
her from an Irish Independent into an Irish Loyalist— 
at least you would think so to hear that old native of 
the Emerald Isle telling of our prince’s kind heart and 

[17] 


The Glory of His Robe 

desire to give joy to “a poor ould sowl that he didn’t 
know at all, at all.” 

And do you know, I think that the sunshine in the 
face of Jesus captured the hearts of a good many people 
in His day. The children loved Him. That tells a 
wonderful story. And the women regarded Him as 
their friend. And the men thronged to listen to Him. 
I cannot help feeling that his face expressed something 
that folks long to see—human interest, sympathy, ten¬ 
derness. I cannot explain the popularity of Jesus on 
any other ground, for the people in authority were all 
against him. And Christ’s cause wins to-day, largely 
by reason of the personality of His followers. “J ust 
let a little sunshine in” and soon you will let a little 
sunshine out, and men will glorify the Master. 


[18] 


Ill 


“COME . . . AND REST A WHILE” 

I S not that a good text for the Summer holidays? 

Those who are addicted to the vacation habit will 
find in it Divine approval of getting near enough to 
Nature’s heart to rest a wee. Those who, like Keats, 
“hate the countrie’s dirt and manners yet love the 
silence,” will find in the appeal something which makes 
“the hum of human cities torture.” There are times 
when the words of the Master are wonderfully wel¬ 
come. We cannot keep on working indefinitely. Our 
activities must be punctuated by rests. I know just 
enough concerning music to appreciate the fact that 
the “rest” plays a greater part in making a composition 
effective than most folks realise. The Midsummer 
rest is something like that. In many cases it seems 
like a waste of good time, but it is not always so. 

A Scotch elder, meeting a friend, was asked about 
his minister, and replied that he was off on vacation. 
The friend remarked that the last time he had seen the 
minister he was looking very fit. “Bless you,” said 
the elder, “it wasna him that needit the vawcation. It 
was the congregation.” Sometimes a change of voice 
is a good thing for the people; and sometimes a new 
note creeps into the sermon after the minister has had 

[19] 


The Glory of His Rohe 

a wee while with Nature and Nature’s God. I like to 
hear somebody after service say in my hearing, “Isn’t 
it good to see the minister back ? And wasn’t 
he fine this morning?” Then I know that 
v. the “vawcation” was not wasted on the minister, and 
that the congregation will get the benefit of these hours 
with Nature and with books in the months that stretch 
ahead. 

But ministers are not the only folks who take vaca¬ 
tions. Walk down the streets and you will be im¬ 
pressed that a few school teachers also are away in 
the country, by the lake side, or down by the sea. Yes, 
there are times when, in the midst of the uproar which 
the boisterous youth of the neighbourhood manages 
to create, you feel like addressing the absent peda¬ 
gogues in the words of the old Scotch song, “Wull ye 
no come back again?” And I have a secret feeling 
that many a child would sometimes like fine to join 
in the chorus, for you can get too much of a good 
thing. That is why we have to have Daily Vacation 
Bible Schools—just to make the holidays endurable 
for the kiddies, and incidentally turn the time to good 
account. 

A vacation is one of the best means known to im¬ 
press upon the soul the blessing of work. No doubt 
you have heard of the old lady whose last words are 
said to have been: 

“Farewell, my dear friends, 

From you I must sever, 

I’m goin’ where I’ll do nuthin’ 

Forever and ever.” 

[20] 


“Come . . . and Rest a While” 


Sometimes we think that a future like that might have 
not a few charms. But go off on vacation—is it not 
wonderful how soon we begin to grouch about how 
hard it is to put in the time? We say that a do-noth¬ 
ing life may be all right for some fellows, but it has 
no charms for the man who has a good job. Human 
nature is very peculiar—unhappy when it has plenty 
to do, wonderfully miserable when it has no work to 
face. Do you not think that our Lord said something 
very wise when He asked His disciples to come with 
Him into the wilderness and rest a while? He knew 
that they would not be satisfied very many days away 
from the abodes of men, but a rest would do them 
good. It would prepare them to enjoy their work 
much better; for a tired man has to whip himself to 
work, while a man in normal condition enjoys his 
work. 

There are a few folks left in the world who labor 
under the delusion that work is a curse. It is not. 
Read your Bible and you will discover that work was 
the law of the universe long before there were pains 
and aches, and rheumatism, and mustard poultices 
and pain-killer. The first strike transformed work into 
labour, injected bitterness into toil, and converted glo¬ 
rious achievement into mere drudgery. Just think over 
the difference between work and labour and you will 
understand what I am driving at. It is not work that 
disheartens and kills. It is labour—work plus some¬ 
thing that wearies the body, frets the spirit, and makes 
life a burden. If you want to learn what a blessing 
work is just go off on vacation. Soon you will learn 
[ 21 ] 


The Glory of His Robe 

that just one thing is necessary to make you perfectly 
happy, and that is a little work. 

The other day I read a story regarding an old stage- 
driver who had been very ill. In spite of careful 
nursing he did not gain much. One day his sons car¬ 
ried him out to the old stage, wrapped him up and put 
the lines into his feeble hands. It was simply wonder¬ 
ful how the old man galloped back to health. Yes, 
work is necessary to health. Perhaps Richard C. 
Cabot’s points of a good job are worthy of capitula¬ 
tion: We want a chance to subdue. We want mo¬ 
notony and variety. We want a boss. We want to 
see the product of our work. We want a handle to 
our name—in other words, the recognition that the 
possession of a job should give. We want congeniality 
with our fellow-workmen. Yes. We all want work, 
and we want it very badly after the vacation is over, 
for we get tired doing nothing. We want to be busy. 

Did it ever strike you that, amongst the famous “No 
Mores” of the Book of Revelation, you do not find 
“No more work?” You discover that there are no 
• more tears, no more pain, no more death, but when 
the Seer would give us the crowning joy of the re¬ 
deemed he says: “His servants shall serve Him, and 
they shall see His face and His name shall be written 
on their foreheads.” Work will be the joy of heaven. 
That is why some of us are trying to discover all the 
good points of our task down here. We want to be 
fitted for the life which is beyond the shadows, but 
which we are assured is a life of activity and purpose¬ 
fulness. 


[22] 


IV 

HOW MEN MAKE LIFE’S GREAT DECISION 

O NE Summer afternoon, a good many years ago,. 

a gentleman asked me to drive him out to a de¬ 
serted church building. When we reached our destina¬ 
tion we found the door unlocked; but the old house of 
worship was a sad sight—cobwebs hanging from the 
ceiling, all the windows smashed and one corner of the- 
edifice hanging most precariously, for the supporting 
post had rotted away. My friend asked me to leave 
him for a while. So I tied the horse to the fence, and 
wandered in and out among the old tombstones in the 
churchyard, endeavouring to while away an hour by 
reading of the virtues of the good folks who had at¬ 
tended the church previous to Confederation. 

When my friend came out of that ruined building 
there were tears upon his face, but there was also a 
great joy. He said: ‘Tm pretty dusty, for I have been 
sitting in the old pews where I was converted. I have 
been recalling the old faces. I have been thinking of 
the minister who used to preach here when I was a 
boy. Best of all, I have been living over again the 
night when I was converted in that old church—the 
night of all nights to me! I have been kneeling down 
amidst all that dust and trash just to thank God for the 
good men and women who worshipped here in my 

[23] 


The Glory of His Robe 

youthful days, and for our old homespun preacher, 
who led me to the Saviour in my young manhood. 
To-day, on the very spot where I gave my heart to God 
forty years ago, I re-dedicated my life to the service 
of my Lord.” Now this story was not told as con¬ 
nectedly as it appears here. It was punctuated by sobs. 
It was marked by flashes of great joy. When the 
;Story was finished I looked keenly at him, but he saw 
me not. He was living in other days, and, upon his 
face, was the look of one who has seen the Lord. I 
am not ashamed to say that my soul thrilled as I heard 
that man refer to the transcendent experience of his 
life. 

There are church buildings which are very sacred 
to many individuals because of the associations con¬ 
nected therewith. I remember a congregation which 
had built a new house of worship and was about to 
move into it. The morning the new building was to be 
dedicated a lot of the old members held a seven o’clock 
prayer meeting in the old building. I am told that 
that farewell meeting could be described only in the 
words of the Psalmist: “Thy servants take pleasure in 
her stones and have pity on her dust.” These old 
folks recalled the day when they knelt at the altar as 
penitents, or when, at that same altar, they were re¬ 
ceived into the membership of the church. The old 
building was dear to their hearts, and the new one 
could scarcely take its place. 

But not every one is converted in a church building. 
“Where were you converted, Bill?” was asked of a 
brakeman one day. “Outside of Chicago, all alone, 

[24] 


How Men Make Life’s Great Decision 

on top of a freight car, at half-past two in the morn¬ 
ing/’ was his surprising answer. God deals with the 
souls of men in diverse places and in diverse ways. Ever 
since my boyhood days I have been grappling with the 
problem of the differences which we find in Christian 
experience. I was brought up under Scotch Calvinistic ( 
teaching. When first we came to Canada we came 
into contact with Quietism as represented by the 
Quakers, and, soon after, with religious emotionalism 
as seen in Primitive Methodism. How they used to 
shout! A little band of “Primitives” in good form 
might, on a quiet night, be heard easily for over half 
a mile. And then from time to time there came to 
my father’s manse religionists who seemed to make 
conversion a matter of the intellectual acceptance of a 
set of propositions. I heard one man say: “I can an¬ 
swer all the questions satisfactorily, but I know I 
need something more.” 

Faith is more than an intellectual attitude. It goes 
farther in than the brain. It has to do with the will. 
Conversion is the soul’s return to God. It is the prodi¬ 
gal saying, “I will arise and go to my father.’’ The 
prodigal arose and went, but the origin of his action 
lay in his will—in the purpose which he formed to go 
back home. Conversion is just like that. The will 
is the biggest human factor in it. Everything else is 
incidental. It was a long time before I could see that. 
I was waiting for something that God never gives to 
a man of my temperament—a highly wrought emo¬ 
tional experience. It was a wonderful hour to me 
when I acted upon the information given by the Apos- 

[25] 


The Glory of His Robe 

tie John: “To as many as received him (Jesus Christ), 
.<to them gave He the right to become the children of 
God, even to them that believe on His name.” I re¬ 
member distinctly the day and the place where I told 
God that I honestly accepted Jesus as my Saviour. I 
regard the little prayer which I offered on that occa¬ 
sion as a very crude affair; but what it embodied is 
not crude. It is a soul’s return to God, the will of 
the subject submitted to the King, the sinner conscious 
of his sin trusting the Divinely appointed Saviour. 
There was no great emotion about that crisis in my 
life; but there was a tremendous act of will in it—an 
act that has influenced me ever since. On that fateful 
day, in the words of Horace Bushnell, “One person a 
sinner committed himself to another person a Saviour.” 
You ask “What about your feeling as the years have 
passed by?” Well, I am not afraid of God now. It 
seems natural to call him Father, and to desire to know 
His will for me; because somehow I have the feeling 
that I am His child; but I am anticipating something 
that I hope to say next week. 

If the very core of the experience, which is popularly 
called conversion, be an act of will, we may expect that 
folks, in describing what has occurred, will view it 
from different standpoints. One of my friends, who 
loved to discuss this theme, once said to me: “The 
Lord loves variety. He never made two daisies just 
alike;” and I am inclined to think that no two individ¬ 
uals have exactly the same Christian experience. How¬ 
ever, there are three main types of character with 
which the Christian worker has to deal. 

[26] 


How Men Make Life's Great Decision 

To the man who has had all sorts of intellectual dif¬ 
ficulties, his conversion stands out in his mind as the 
solution of his mental problems. But no man comes 
head first to the Saviour. He comes heart first. The 
deeply emotional soul and the steady-going individual 
in whom the will is dominant always—these form the 
great mass of the seekers after God. Let me tell of 
two brothers whom I knew. One was a quiet fellow, 
who had little to say for himself, but was evidently 
under deep conviction of sin. It was difficult to find 
out just what was his perplexity regarding the way of 
life. All his pastor could do was to show himself 
sympathetic with the silent struggles of a seeking soul 
and point out the way as best he could. At last a 
change came over his countenance. Relief was seen 
in his eyes. “It’s settled!” he exclaimed, and the pass¬ 
ing of years has proved that it was settled that night. 
Later on his younger brother was converted. He was 
completely broken down under a sense of his guilt. So 
great was his emotion that his minister could scarcely 
talk to him on account of his sobs; but when that lad 
made his decision his face was “as the clear shining 
after rain.” 

I have ventured to tell some of my own experiences 
in the hope that some of my readers may obtain help 
upon a problem which long puzzled me but which 
troubles me no longer. Once I am satisfied that con¬ 
version is a fact in any man’s experience I do not 
trouble myself concerning the incidentals of that 
mighty transaction. He has met with his Saviour and 
mine, and we are “brethren in the Lord.” 

[27] 


V 


THE RELIGIOUS VALUE OF HUMOUR 

T HERE is a great difference between 'humour and 
frivolity. The latter is characterised by a lack 
of seriousness, sense and reverence. Humour is play¬ 
ful fancy. It depends for its effect rather upon kindly 
human feeling than on point and brilliancy of expres¬ 
sion. It differs also from wit. Wit is abrupt, darting, 
scornful, and tosses its analogies in your face. Hu¬ 
mour is slow and shy, insinuating its fun into your 
heart. Is there a place for humour in the religious 
life? I think that there is. It is not my purpose 
to defend the frivolous spirit which we so often be¬ 
hold in the religious life, nor shall I justify that wit 
which so frequently wounds the object of its attack; 
but I shall endeavour to establish the thesis that, in 
humour, religion has a very important asset. True, 
we must be careful that humour does not degenerate 
into frivolity, just as we must guard against serious¬ 
ness drooping into dismal and depressing dreariness; 
yet a well-balanced soul will discover that a due pro¬ 
portion of humour in his nature makes a man easier 
to live with, and gives the religious worker a point of 
contact with a multitude of other souls, who thrill 
under the humanness of the man with the smile and 
the whimsical mode of address. 

[28] 



The Religious Value of Humour 

Humour is a wonderful antidote to the pessimistic 
attitude towards life. I suppose that we have to-day a 
special outbreak of pessimism, for all sorts of hidden 
forces have come to the surface, and we are often as¬ 
tounded at the glimpses that we get of human restless¬ 
ness and human sin. When a solemn-faced pessimist 
comes along it is always well to remember that we 
have been hearing for a great while that the world is 
going to the dogs just as fast as it can. I have heard 
it for a good many years now, but, on the whole, 
things are better than they were when I was a boy. It 
is easy to point to certain things which might be im¬ 
proved, but that is a very different thing from de¬ 
claring that the world is deteriorating altogether. 
Here is a wee bit of verse that will cheer you: 

“My grandpa notes the world’s worn cogs, 

And says we’re going to the dogs; 

His granddad, in his house of logs, 

Swore things were going to the dogs; 

His dad, amid the Flemish bogs, 

Vowed things were going to the dogs; 

The cave man, in his queer skin togs, 

Said things were going to the dogs. 

But this is what I wish to state: 

The dogs have had an awful wait." 

The best argument against pessimism is a kindly re¬ 
ligious humour. It cannot face it. As a friend of 
mine used to say: “It rushes away to hide its dimin¬ 
ished head." 

Humour is also a great asset in religious teaching. 
I wonder why it is that so many preachers are afraid 


The Glory of His Robe 

of it. Is it part of their inheritance of black coats 
and dim religious light, and music in the minor key, 
and an over-emphasis upon death as the chief expe¬ 
rience which the individual must face? A little while 
ago, a Scottish preacher came down to London, where 
he preached a sermon that won him fame. His text 
was hackneyed; it gave little promise of being the seed 
from which a great sermon might grow, for his aud¬ 
ience thought that the last word had been said upon it. 
Here is the text: “I am not ashamed of the Gospel of 
Christ, for it is the power of God unto salvation, etc.” 
The minister looked down into the faces of a crowd of 
old sermon-tasters, and said very quietly: “I think 
Paul had some Scottish characteristics in his make-up. 
Like most Scots he was given to an understatement 
rather than to an overstatement. When a Scot is 
asked how he is he usually replies, T’m no sae bad/ or 
T micht be waur/ meaning, of course, that he is in 
very good health. When Paul said T am not ashamed 
of the Gospel/ he actually meant T am proud of it/ ” 
Can you not fancy that you see that congregation of 
London Scottish with an appreciative gleam in their 
eyes and just a wee hint of a smile on their lips, bend¬ 
ing forward to get the next sentence? The preacher 
had captured them by the pawkiness of his humour. 
They will never forget that explanation, but it was 
the humour in it that gave it point. 

Did you ever think that, while we are very apt to 
regard Jesus as the Man of Sorrows, there are indica¬ 
tions that He was not devoid of humour? Read the 
Sermon on the Mount, and picture to yourself the 
[ 30 ] 


The Religious Value of Humour 

man with a saw-log in his own eye trying to discover 
the splinter in his neighbour’s eye, or the grapes grow- 
ing upon a thorn-bush, or figs upon a thistle, and then 
just ask yourself if a kindly, genial humour might 
not be a characteristic of the Great Teacher. I sup¬ 
pose that you have noticed that very often a great 
orator, when he has lifted the people by his matchless 
word-painting and his appeals to the very highest in 
human nature, will, at the close of one of his flights of 
eloquence, tell a story or make a humorous remark. 
Now, what does he do that for? Well, just to let down 
the strain. Just to get ready for another ascent. As 
I study the Sermon on the Mount, I see indications 
that Jesus was not unacquainted with the fact that the 
mind finds continuous attention to high themes very 
difficult, and needs the genial ministry of humour to 
assist it in contemplating the great problems of human 
life and destiny. 

I cannot help remarking that a modicum of humour 
is absolutely necessary to enable the preacher to steer 
clear of trying situations for the congregation. In a 
certain Ontario church of the old-fashioned style of 
architecture, a little dwarf of a preacher appeared one 
Sabbath morning—that is, a little tuft of black hair 
showed itself above the pulpit cushions. A voice is¬ 
sued from the midst of that ancient piece of furniture, 
and this is what it said: “Noo we’ll begin the worship 
o’ Almichty God by singin’ Psalm yin hundred and 
thirty, ‘O Lord, frae the depths to Thee I cried.’ ” 
That congregation, in spite of its Presbyterian training 
in regard to merriment in the house of God, had too 

[31] 


The Glory of His Robe 

great a strain put upon its powers of endurance, and it 
simply rocked with laughter. Now, would not a little 
sense of humour in that preacher have saved the dig¬ 
nity of the situation? I fancy many of my readers can 
recall instances where the “saving salt of humour” 
would have been a great blessing. 

And what charm a little humour gives to religious 
conversation. Why is it that ministers are often 
avoided by the male members of the family when pas¬ 
toral visitation is in progress? Is it not because the 
man with the dog-collar has the reputation of being 
more concerned with the affairs of heaven than with 
the things that are of interest to the inhabitants of 
earth? Many stories are told of the dislike of some 
men to meet the parson. One of the latest I heard is 
that a man who was lying sick in the ward, was dis¬ 
covered by some social service workers in rather a 
destitute condition. Thinking that his own church 
might desire to do something to relieve the distress in 
the home, they enquired as to his church preference 
and, when they discovered it, asked if they should 
notify the minister. The sick man roused himself 
sufficiently to emphatically declare: “Gosh, I’m not 
sick enough for that yet.” Would not a little humour 
in the parson help to keep his feet on the earth, and 
break down the barriers that have been erected between 
him and the masses? Men like to meet manly men, 
and the possession of a little humour offers a means 
of approach to many a soul that otherwise can not be 
reached. 

There is something to be said respecting the value of 

[32] 


The Religious Value of Humour 

humour to its possessor. There are some men—and a 
few women—who take the experiences of life very 
hard. Now I am not saying that some experiences 
are not hard; but it is possible to get into that frame 
of mind where a little bunch of feathers feels like a 
ton weight. The mind that is expecting trouble gen¬ 
erally gets it; and, as continual use of our powers 
develops them in a wonderful fashion, the trouble- 
seekers usually are astonished at the length and breadth 
and depth of their discoveries. Then you have a nar- 
row-souled groucher who makes himself a nuisance to 
everybody, or a broken-hearted pilgrim who has 
scarcely courage for the rest of the journey, and who 
would like to lie down and die right away. But a 
sense of humour helps a man over many a hard place. 
The infirmities of age often weigh heavily upon the 
soul. An old preacher, who had a very long and sharp 
nose and a very long chin, was told by a friend: “Doc¬ 
tor, I am afraid your nose and your chin will fight 
before long. They approach each other very menac¬ 
ingly/’ Had he been thin-skinned, he would have 
brooded over that speech as an insulting reference to 
his decaying powers, but he did not. He just re¬ 
marked : “Very true. A great many words have passed 
between them already/' Now that preacher had a 
healthy soul. 

I have said enough to make it clear that humour 
is a decidedly distinct aid to religion,—yes, that it 
will enable a man to regard the trials of life from 
an angle that assists the religious spirit in eliminating 
dreariness and substituting therefor the hopeful and 


The Glory of His Robe 

genial. And how much we need such an outlook in 
these days of world unrest and world sorrow! God 
has placed within our souls the power of humour for 
the purpose of letting off the strain sometimes, for He 
knows how tired human hearts become. Do not worry 
because you can smile. Just thank God that there are 
times when you simply must smile. For humour is 
the gift of the Father in Heaven. 


[34] 


VI 


THE REALITY OF REGENERATION 
HE phone has just rung, and I have been speaking 



1 with a man, who, a few weeks ago, called upon 
me regarding a matter of business, but who, through 
a chance word, led me to a discussion of the relation 
of the human soul to the Lord Jesus Christ. The re¬ 
sult of that talk was that that man went home to 
settle matters with his Lord, and he has been telling 
me regarding the satisfaction that life holds for him 
since he made the great decision. He could not have 
believed that it made such a difference. Life is so 
much sweeter. There is a new motive behind it. 
There is new power for daily living. There is a defi¬ 
nite assurance of reward at the end of the journey. 
He is living in an atmosphere of wonders; he is dis¬ 
covering glorious things, since he and his Lord have 
come into fellowship. It has struck me that there are 
many people, who really want to know whether there 
is anything in conversion, whether any great change 
takes place when the human soul is given over to God— 
in short, whether the thing, that our fathers used to 
insist upon as the one condition of entrance into 
Heaven, is an experience worth while. 

We are not concerned here with the peculiar methods 
which some sects use in getting men into the King¬ 
dom. Some of them are very objectionable to sensi- 


[35] 


/ 


The Glory of His Robe 

tive souls. Nor are we troubled regarding the varieties 
of Christian experience. We are aware that there are 
some folks that are anxious to put everybody through 
the same little cheese-press squeezed out into exactly 
the same shape. God has many methods of dealing 
with the soul of man. The thing which we are discuss¬ 
ing is the reality of regeneration, the new life as a 
fact that has to be reckoned with, the new birth an 
experience that surpasses all others. 

Science is teaching us to go back to facts, and there 
is one evidence for Christianity that is always to be 
reckoned with, and that is a Christian. A good many 
of us become impatient with the arguments adduced 
for churches of a certain faith, we can make a fairly 
good argument, too, against claims that the Bible is 
of supreme authority, but a Christian, a strong, saintly, 
unselfish character—that has to be explained; and, 
when he tells that the secret of his life lies in the fact 
\j of a great experience, we face a living argument, and 
that is the most convincing argument of all. 

The testimony of the religious consciousness is that 
conversion is a reality, regeneration a wonderful su¬ 
pernatural change. The New Testament is full of the 
records of conversion. The most interesting of them 
all is probably that of the Apostle Paul. We are not 
discussing here the experiences which he describes. It 
is sufficient to remind you that he says: “It was the 
V good pleasure of God to reveal His Son in me.” The 
man, who before was a blasphemer, and a persecutor 
and injurious, obtained mercy, and the enemy of Chris¬ 
tianity became its apostle. Now this was a tremendous 

[36] 


The Reality of Regeneration 

spiritual experience. It was the origin and explana¬ 
tion of everything that followed. The New Testa¬ 
ment bears witness to the fact that there were very 
many others in apostolic times who had a wonderful 
experience of the supernatural in their lives. If any 
man is in Christ—so reads the record—for him all life 
has become new. The soul passes into a new kingdom, 
and owes allegiance to a new lord; it is delivered out 
of the power of darkness, and translated into the king¬ 
dom of the Son of God’s love; it is no longer subject 
to the lusts of man, but to the will of God. Nay, more 
than that, if any man be in Christ, he is passed from 
death unto life, from the death of sin to the life of 
righteousness; he is born again, begotten of God, he 
is a new creature, old things have passed away; behold 
they are become new. Now there is an atmosphere of 
candour and reality in the New Testament. We cannot 
dismiss these statements as mere poetry or rhetoric. 
It is the speech of men in contact with reality. They 
speak what they do know and testify what they have 
seen. If we are to be fair, we must take this testimony 
into account, when we judge the reality of the thing 
that is called conversion. 

Then we must not forget that since the day of the 
Apostles there have been hundreds and thousands, 
who make the very same claims as are recorded in the 
New Testament respecting the reality of the Divine 
dealing with the souls of men. I do not need to men¬ 
tion the names of great saints and reformers, although 
I might easily fill my little corner with a list of men 
and women of whom the world was not worthy, but 

[37] 


The Glory of His Robe 

every one of whom tells of a definite experience of a 
spiritual change. I need only remind you that a wave 
of emotion passes over the average congregation when 
the hymn is sung, “O happy day that fixed my choice 
on Thee, my Saviour and my God.” There is a re¬ 
sponse to that hymn that is eloquent of the reality of 
the fact that God does deal with the human soul, 
pardoning sin and making all things new, so that we 
may well speak of the new birth. 

But the most eloquent testimony regarding the 
reality of this experience is the changed life that re¬ 
sults therefrom. If a man becomes “a new creature,” 
and other people see that he is a new creature, nothing 
more need be said. Now it can easily be seen that this 
evidence is found most readily amongst the “down and 
outers,” and so we go to the mission workers, to the 
Salvation Army, to the men and women whose life 
work is amongst those who have lost hope, and self- 
respect, and are considered mere burdens upon society, 
and often a disgrace to humanity. We ask, “Is there 
anything in conversion?” Mr. Davis, of the Yonge 
Street Mission, can tell you a story that will make 
your heart sing for joy, for he has seen God at work 
renewing manhood, and taking feet out of the miry 
clay and placing them upon the Rock. Every Salva¬ 
tion Army officer will respond, “Anything in conver- 
y sion? Why, bless the Lord, that is the greatest fact 
of all!” And you will be deluged with stories regard¬ 
ing what they have seen with their eyes, and heard 
with their ears respecting what God has done in in¬ 
dividual cases. Yet we must not forget that conver- 

[38] 


The Reality of Regeneration 

sion means a great deal even to a respectable sinner. 
It means handing over the control of his life to Jesus 
Christ, and there will necessarily be the destruction of 
selfishness, there will be an enthusiasm for righteous¬ 
ness, there will be devotion to Christ as his Saviour 
and Master. Conversion is the crisis from which all 
other moral experiences are dated. 

There are sham conversions. There are people who 
are very susceptible to religious appeal. It is, in their 
case, a very short step from the strongest religious 
emotion to the strongest animal passion; and these 
people have led a good many who wish to be very sure 
regarding their own action, to be careful respecting the 
claims they make as to their relation to Jesus Christ. 
There are whole communities that have been burnt 
over by a flame of revivalism that has left many an 
individual nothing but a warning to others of the 
danger of mere religious emotionalism. But true con¬ 
version is not a mere emotional experience. It is a 
moral decision. It is an intelligent turning away from 
the old life of sin, a deliberate choice of Jesus Christ 
as Saviour and Master, a committal of the soul into 
His keeping for time and for eternity. Regeneration 
is the Divine act which follows conversion. Just what 
God does we cannot tell, but any man who has ex¬ 
perienced the change knows that something has been 
done, and that he is now a new creature in Christ 
Jesus. Regeneration is a mystery, but it is likewise a 
great reality. “The wind bloweth where it listeth, and 
thou canst not tell whence it cometh and whither it 
goeth, so is every one that is born of the Spirit.” 


VII 


LOOKING FOR TO-MORROW MORNING 

W E need the hopeful heart. We use the minor 
note too much. True, we have our hard times. 
The sorrows of the war have been very real. The 
hardships occasioned by the high cost of living have 
borne heavily upon many a family. Not a few people 
seem to think that the world is on the verge of de- 
v/ struction. It is the easiest thing under heaven to be a 
pessimist just now. But you know that generally the 
thing that is not easy is the thing that is right. An 
old lady said once that a certain course of action must 
be her duty, “because,” she said, “I hate it so much.” 

Well, that is one reason why I make an attempt at 
being an optimist. I could be a howling success as a 
pessimist, especially when my liver is not working very 
/ well or when the rheumatism pinches me a little more 
than usual. It requires real effort, however, to be a 
fairly respectable optimist upon such days. I may be 
mistaken, but I am of the opinion that it is a bigger 
achievement to have my name away down at the foot 
of the pass list in the optimistic class than to get first- 
class honours and medal in the other competition. I 
have no desire to attain notoriety as a first-class pessi¬ 
mist. 

Perhaps that is why a little passage in the Book of 
[ 40 ] 


Looking for To-morrow Morning 

Numbers appeals very strongly to me. Israel was on 
the march. Their route lay through a flat, uninterest¬ 
ing country. Night had fallen. The old chronicler 
records the story thus : “Israel was much discouraged/' 
They appeared to be turning their faces away from 
the Land of Promise. But the chronicler introduces a 
phrase that lights up the darkness with real glory. 
“They pitched ... in the wilderness . . . toward the 
sunrising.” I suppose that is the Oriental way of 
saying that they were traveling East; but it does not 
require a very vivid Western imagination to see, in the 
tent opening toward the sunrising, a face looking for 
to-morrow morning—looking out in the direction from 
which the light ought to come. 

There is something very fascinating about such an 
attitude of mind. The man, who, in the dark, pitches 
his tent toward the sunrising, may have to endure all 
sorts of jeering, may have little evidence to produce 
that light will come from the East—all he knows is 
that it should come from that direction. It has come 
from that point of the compass in the days gone by. 
So he pitches the little V-shaped tent where the first 
ray of the morning sun will flood it with light, and 
lies down to rest in the darkness, but looking for to¬ 
morrow morning. Isn't that a fine, brave spirit? 

Somewhere the sun is shining, 

Somewhere the song-birds dwell; 

Hush, then, thy sad repining, 

God lives and all is well. 

When a man shows such a spirit as that he cheers 
other folks up. There are some souls who affect you 


The Glory of His Robe 

as does a chilly, dark day. If you are feeling blue, 
they intensify the feeling. If you are quite normal, 
they manage to make you feel that “this world’s a 
wilderness of woe.” But the man who has the cheery 
spirit comes into office or store like a beam of sunshine 
bringing cheer and health with him. We love such a 
man as that and hope that his tribe may increase. 

But you object that this is rather a strenuous demand 
that some poor sinners should become optimists. You 
say: “You know I just naturally am inclined to look 
on the dark side of things.” Well, when I was a wee 
laddie, there were some things that I just naturally did 
too; but, when I did them, there was a big slipper 
wielded by a vigorous hand to remind me that some 
things that were so easily done brought woe to the doer 
thereof and general unhappiness to the family. No 
man can give way to pessimism without intensifying 
his own misery and making other folks miserable, too. 
f The cheerful spirit is a religious duty. I heard a man 
once say regarding another that his religion did not 
seem to agree with him, because he had such a melan¬ 
choly face and such a doleful manner. I saw some¬ 
where the other day that a famous American states¬ 
man, who was taken to task for his dislike to a certain 
man, gave as his reason that he did not like his face. 
The reply was that the man was not responsible for 
his face; and the reply came: “Nonsense! Every man 
of forty-five is responsible for his face.” Think it 
over, and you will see that what he meant is that the 
character of the man has been stamped upon his coun¬ 
tenance by his daily life. So if you want to have a 

[42] 


Looking for To-morrow* Morning 

face that folks like to look at, be cheerful. Pitch your 
tent toward the sunrising. It is not always easy to 
do it. The East wind is piercing, especially when the 
darkness is closing down. We do not care to lie in a 
V-shaped tent open to the cold, damp breeze. Oh! 
When the darkness seems thick enough to cut with a 
knife, it takes grit to watch for the sunrise. But isn't 
such watching character-making? 

And do you know, it seems to me that there is an 
expression in one of the Pauline epistles which gives 
us a little sidelight upon the optimistic spirit: “The 
God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, ^ 
that ye may abound in hope in the power of the Holy 
Ghost.” Just think of God as the hopeful God, never 
daunted by the darkness, always looking towards the 
sunrising. Paul prays that God may fill the Roman 
Christians with all joy and peace in believing. Evi¬ 
dently he regards the cheerful spirit as the mark of a 
follower of Christ, and as a special gift given to those 
whose faith issues in joy and peace. The optimistic 
soul believes, rejoices, rests and hopes in God. He 
knows that, in spite of to-night’s darkness, to-morrow 
morning will bring sunshine once more. Something 
of that wondrous hope, which saw, in a poor degraded 
sinner, a saint made like unto Jesus Christ, comes into 
his heart. And the God who can do that for a sin- 
stained soul can do anything. That is the basis of his 
optimism. 

“I wait for the Lord, my soul doth wait, 

And in His word do I hope. 

My soul looketh for the Lord, 

[43] 


The Glory of His Robe 

More than watchmen look for the morning; 
O Israel, hope in the Lord; 

For with the Lord there is mercy, 

And with him is plenteous redemption. 

And He shall redeem Israel 
From all his iniquities.” 


[44] 


VIII 


SOME THINGS TO THINK ABOUT 

HOUGHT precedes speech. If you do not be- 



l lieve that, ask any mother who possesses an 
intelligent baby, and she will tell you about the remark¬ 
able thoughts that she is sure find a place in her baby’s 
mind; or ask the owner of a good dog, and he will 
speak of the eloquent eyes of his canine friend, and 
the thoughts which must lie behind them. Consult a 
work on psychology, and you will be assured that 
thought always precedes language; and, if then you 
are not quite certain, recall some time when you were 
requested to talk upon a certain subject and declined 
upon the ground that you had nothing to say, for you 
had not thought sufficiently concerning the question. 

Clear and intelligent speech springs from a clear and 
well-informed mind. There are some folks whose con¬ 
versation is most disappointing. These people look 
well, dress well, and often possess cultured voices, but 
their mental assets are very limited indeed. In our 
block there is a parrot. He is the finest looking bird 
on the street, but, as the children say, his voice is 
“fierce,” and his conversation strictly limited to the 
vain repetition of “Polly,” and an occasional wrathful 
outburst which terminates in the exclamation, “Get 
out!” He is a standing advertisement of the fact that 


[45] 


The Glory of His Robe 

fine feathers do not always make fine birds. Although 
his education has gone on for at least three years, he 
cannot possess a very receptive mind, for he has learned 
but little. Speech is generally an indication of the 
thoughts that possess the soul. “As a man thinketh in 
his heart so is he.” It is chiefly through speech and 
action that we learn the real quality of the man, and, 
of these two, speech plays the more frequent part. 

One day a good many years ago, Mr. Thomas Bone, 
who for many years, was missionary on the Welland 
Canal, approached a group of swearing men with that 
cheery smile which made him the friend of every 
“sailor man.” “Good-morning, boys,” he said, “can 
any of you tell me just what kind of stuff that mill is 
grinding without going to look into the hopper?” No¬ 
body could, and one man asked him, “Mr. Bone, can 
you?” “Yes,” he said, “I’d watch what comes out at 
the spout.” There was a general laugh and then the 
wise old missionary remarked: “Judging by what has 
been coming out of the spout, there must be some 
pretty bad stuff in the hopper.” The story is applicable 
to others than sailors; for by our words we are justified 
and by our words we are condemned. 

The other night I saw a four-year-old lying flat on 
his stomach upon the sidewalk, studying the progress 
of “Bringing Up Father.” Judging from his merry 
laughter over father’s adventures, one could be in no 
doubt of his appreciation of the pictures, but mere 
merriment is not the chief end to be sought when food 
that is worthy of thought is provided for childish in¬ 
telligence. We must be careful as to the character of 

[46] 


Some Things to Think About 

the subjects upon which we think. What kind of ideals 
will that child obtain by a study of “Bringing Up 
Father?” 

There hangs in my bedroom a card upon which is 
printed an extract from an old author. It reads as 
follows: 

“Whatsoever things are true, 

Whatsoever things are honest, 

Whatsoever things are just, 

Whatsoever things are pure. 

Whatsoever things are lovely, 

Whatsoever things are of good report. 

If there be any virtue, and if there be any praise 
Think on these things.” 

I believe that that quotation dates back about nineteen 
hundred years, but it is just as applicable to-day as it 
was when it was first written. It is the soul which has 
some worthy things to think about that possesses some¬ 
thing worth while talking about. 

I have not been very well lately, and one of my 
visitors—a lady—suggested to me that that card of 
mine ought to be hung up in many reception rooms at 
five o’clock teas, “for,” said she, “a great many ladies 
retail a good deal of scandal at such gatherings. They 
need good wholesome teaching.” I think I could point 
out some gatherings not frequented by women where 
the teaching enforced by my little card might prove 
corrective. It is well to remember that the soul, who 
is continually pondering worthy thoughts, will soon 
lose his fondness for that which is inane, trivial, con¬ 
temptible and positively wicked. Meet some pure help- 

[47] 


The Glory of His Robe 

ful soul. Endeavour to discover the secret of his in¬ 
variable charitable references to others. Ask yourself 
why you always have a kindlier feeling towards your 
fellow-men after you have been in his presence for a 
little while. I fancy that you will discover that your 
friend is not anxious to hear anything discreditable 
concerning his neighbours. He is a reader of good 
books. He meditates upon worthy things. He re¬ 
joices over noble deeds, high and inspiring thought, 
and his words prove it. Sam Walter Foss well sings: 

“Let me live in my house by the side of the road, 
where the race of men go by— 

They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are 
strong, 

Wise, foolish—so am I. 

Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat 

Or hurl the cynic’s ban?— 

Let me live in my house by the side of the road, and 
be a friend to man.” 

One of the glories of the virtuous women, according 
to King Solomon, is that “She openeth her mouth 
with wisdom and the law of kindness is on her 
tongue.” All the good women did not die in those 
far-off times. Some of them remain to bless, en¬ 
courage and inspire the poor sinners who live at the 
present day. What a benison some people are! No 
scandal drops from their lips. They are not given to 
gossip. Their language is never suggestive of unclean¬ 
ness or obscenity. It is like a brook—clear, sparkling, 
refreshing, life-giving—a perfect benediction to all 
their friends. Such people seem to have made the old 

[48] 


Some Things to Think About 

adage their motto: “Whatsoever things are true, what¬ 
soever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, 
whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are 
lovely, whatsoever things are of good report, if there 
be any virtue, and if there be any praise.” 


[49] 


IX 


THE CHRISTIAN SPIRIT 

T HE manifestation of a Christian spirit has al¬ 
ways been a hard trial to me. In my earliest 
school days I had trouble over it; for, on the very first 
day of my attendance, some tough young rascal picked 
upon my father’s son, just because he happened to be 
a minister’s laddie, and, after throwing doubt upon the 
character of his ancestral tree, challenged him to fight. 
Well, the laddie was between two fires—a desire to 
smite the Philistine’s hip and thigh, and another de¬ 
sire to obey the parental injunction: “Thou shalt not 
fight.” He chose not to fight, but had to stand the 
jeers of the Philistines regarding his forebears, who 
had fought on many a battlefield with the Royal Scots 
Regiment. He went home crying, “Mither, I’ve jist 
got tae fecht.” And the next day the battle came off, 
and Scotland was not vanquished either; but a lady 
came complaining to the minister concerning the vi¬ 
cious and unchristian spirit manifested by his eldest 
son, who had hit her son Willie on the nose, thereby 
causing him serious loss of blood, and, what was more 
serious a grave loss of respect for the Christian minis¬ 
try. That day I began to wrestle with the problem, 
what is “The Christian Spirit.” I learned that some 
folks, when they interpret what it should be in some 

[50] 


The Christian Spirit 

other folks, might very well sum it up in one word, 
“spiritless.” 

During my college days, I had, as a professor, one 
of the gentlest and godliest men I ever knew; but, one 
day, the class was electrified at hearing him address 
one of the students in language that was fairly blister¬ 
ing in its indignation. He had caught a glimpse of the 
fellow cheating during recitation, and his indignation 
burst forth in a fashion that made us marvel, for it 
revealed a strength and virility in his nature, which 
hitherto had not been disclosed. One of the students 
afterwards, in discussing the incident, said: “The Old 
Prof, made me think of the Lord this afternoon. Oh, 
how the Old Man hates sneaking!” But afterwards, 
it became clear that the offending student did not think 
that the professor had exhibited a very Christian 
spirit. The rest of the class admired the professor 
more than ever. What is your verdict concerning his 
spirit? It may help you, .in coming to a decision, to 
be told that the offence was long-continued, and that 
the student was taking advantage of the fact that the 
professor was very short-sighted. 

I have related these incidents just to emphasise the 
fact that there are differences of opinion regarding 
what constitutes the Christian spirit. Some people 
would make it a colourless negative thing. They would 
rob it of virility and strength and leave the Christian 
“an easy mark” for every one who chooses to impose ^ 
on him. I confess that I do not read my Bible in that 
fashion. There are days when I like to read of Jesus 
driving the traders out of the Temple, and other days 


The Glory of His Robe 

when I like to read the twenty-third of Matthew, in 
which He makes that terrific attack upon the Pharisees; 
^ for the Christ I adore is a strong character. I do not 
like being imposed upon myself, and I should find it 
hard to follow One whose life showed that He had 
not sufficient self-respect to resent insult and injustice 
both to Himself and others. My Christ is no weak¬ 
ling. 

It is when I try to relate my life to His that I get 
into trouble. I rub my hands in delight, when I see 
these miserable note-shavers on the run out of the 
Temple porches. I smile as I hear Him address the 
Pharisees over and over again as “hypocrites.” I love 
the strength that is manifest everywhere in His char¬ 
acter, and I want to be like Him. I hear Paul saying: 
“Be ye angry,” and I feel like hugging the bleary-eyed 
old Apostle; but he goes on to say further: “and sin 
not. Let not the sun go down upon your wrath,” and 
then I feel like exclaiming: “Oh, Paul! Paul! You’ve 
spoiled it. It’s clear you’re no Scotch, or you wud 
never say that.” And then there floats through my 
mind the words, “Paul, an apostle of Jesus Christ,” 
and I begin to feel something of the authority of the 
Master in the words of the servant, and to realise 
that righteous indignation must be handled like dyna¬ 
mite, “with great care.” 

Many years ago a famous English preacher wrote 
a tract, which had a tremendous circulation, and, some 
years afterwards, got into a controversy with a gentle¬ 
man against whom he wrote another tract. He car¬ 
ried it to a friend to have him suggest a title for it. 
[ 52 ] 


The Christian Spirit 

This is what he suggested: “Go to the Devil, by the 
author of 'Come to Jesus.’ ” Needless to say the 
manuscript was never published. There is no time, 
when a man needs more to pray for Divine grace than 
when he is righteously indignant clear to his toes; for 
it is possible to exhibit a devilish temper over a 
heavenly matter. 

No doubt you have been impressed with the over¬ 
flowing good-will of Jesus toward unfriendly people. 
We have all admired the attitude of Joseph towards 
his brethren, who sold him as a slave into Egypt; but 
Jesus makes what was only an occasional virtue the 
common duty of everyday life. That is where the 
demand that we show the Christian spirit catches most 
of us. In some high hour of magnanimity, we do for¬ 
give somebody who has wronged us; and, afterwards, 
while we may not publish the fact abroad, we do like 
to sit down with little Jack Horner, and think “What 
a good boy am I!” It takes the conceit out of us just 
to read the Master’s demands as recorded in the 
sixth chapter of Luke: “Love your enemies, do good*/" 
to them that hate you, bless them that curse you, pray 
for them that despitefully use you.” A little reflection 
upon His example will lead an earnest soul to feel 
that he comes far short of attaining the standard that 
the Master has set up. Did you ever hear of folks, 
who said to somebody that had offended them: “Well, 

I’ll forgive you, but I never can forget it?” And their 
sins had been cast behind God’s back—cast into the 
depths of the sea! And God demands that they for¬ 
give even as He for Christ’s sake forgives them. The 

T53l 


The Glory of His Robe 

Christmas season is a good time to get rid of old 
grudges and to extend the hand of genuine friendship. 

And compassion—yes, I had not forgotten that, 
but I have been writing about some things that are 
often overloaded. The Christian spirit is a spirit of 
sympathy and compassion. That is why hospitals 
/-'and all sorts of charities abound wherever the Gospel 
is preached. That is why the Christian peoples are 
seeking to help the starving millions of North China. 
That is why, wherever a man professes to be a fol¬ 
lower of the Nazarene, we look to him to supplement 
his profession by his deeds, and to show that he has a 
feeling of brotherliness towards others who need his 
help. 

I have just been reading of an old man, an invalid, 
whose son had to carry the burden of the homestead. 
One day the son asked the father to do some little 
chores, but the old man was weary, and his memory 
was failing, and he forgot. When the son got home 
he enquired about the chores and his father said, “Son, 
I am sorry to own it, but really I forgot.” The son 
choked down his anger and said: “Never mind, father, 
I’ll attend to them,” and was turning to go to the barn, 
when the father called to him, and this is what he said: 
“Oh, my boy, God bless you, just because you are al¬ 
ways so faithful to duty! You will never know what 
a comfort you are to me, you are so faithful, my son, 
to duty!” When the son returned from doing the 
chores, and addressed the poor old man in the deep 
arm chair, there was no response; and, in a moment 
or two, he discovered that, out of the weariness and 

[54] 


The Christian Spirit 

pain, the tired old father had gone to that land where 
“there shall be no more pain.” The sweetest memory 
that son cherishes of his father are these words: “God 
bless you, my boy! You are such a comfort to me, 
because you are always so faithful to duty.” And 
that is the kind of spirit which is inculcated by the 
Gospel of Jesus Christ. 


[5Sl 


X 


“as thy days so shall thy strength be” 
GOOD many years ago when I was a wee laddie, 



n an old backwoods preacher visited my father, 
and, as is the custom of preachers, they began to dis¬ 
cuss sermons. He said that a man, situated as he was, 
laboured under a handicap. He tried to do too much. 
“I don’t get around to some of my appointments for 
a month. I tell you, Brother, that a sermon has plenty 
of time to soak in. Every sermon I preach is a double- 
barrelled one. I try to instruct and comfort the saints 
of the Lord, and then I always git after the sinners 
down by the door; and, you can jest bet, I’m stronger 
on the Gospel than I am on exposition.” When I set 
out to write this chapter I decided that like the old 
preacher’s sermon it would have to be double-barrelled; 
for we are on the very confines of the Old Year and 
can almost descry the borders of the New. 

Here is a strong, helpful text which ought to sing in 
your hearts as the days go by. I am giving it to you 
in time to have it make melody in your soul while the 
bells, and whistles, and bands, and men and women 
singers, announce that another year is born: “Thy bars 
shall be iron and brass, and as thy days so shall thy 
strength be.” There are many wonderful things in the 
thirty-third chapter of Deuteronomy, and some ex- 


[56] 


“As Thy Days So Shall Thy Strength Be” 


pressions which have been heartening to Bible readers 
in the days gone by; but I do not know a single ex¬ 
pression that has done so much to steady souls as they 
had to face a new and difficult experience as the quiet 
little assurance: “As thy days so shall thy strength be.” 
I like to read the context: “There is none like unto 
thy God, O Jeshurun, who rideth upon the heavens for 
thy help, and, in his excellency, upon the skies. The 
eternal God is thy dwelling place and underneath are 
the everlasting arms.” 

William L. Stidger, in the New York Christian Ad¬ 
vocate, tells a story which I desire to repeat that my 
readers may get a little inspiration which comes from 
it. He was travelling in China with another American, 
who was as fussy over a certain woollen blanket as 
any old hen with only one chick possibly could be. 
But one day the old chap told the story of the blanket. 
It had been given to him by his boy, and he did not 
want to lose it. He said that one day, when the lad 
was about seven years of age, he was out with some 
other kiddies and was run over by a train, and both 
legs were crushed. The father was called to the 
hospital, and taken to the operating room, and there 
saw the surgeons do their ghastly work. When the 
laddie came out of the anaesthetic, it was with a cry 
on his lips: “Oh, daddy, I’ve been run over with a 
train. How could the doctor fix me up so soon? 
Daddy, he must have cut my legs off?” The boy was 
asking a question. That was the hardest hour in that 
man’s life. Then he said to him: “Sonny boy—you 
have always been brave—and daddy has never told you 

[57] 


The Glory of His Robe 

a lie, and he isn’t going to begin now—and you have 
guessed it right. The doctor did take off both your 
legs.” 

Then the little chap raised his little white arm in 
the air, and looked at it, and then into his father’s face, 
and said: “But this arm is still all right, daddy.” And 
then he raised the other one, and cried, almost with a 
note of triumph in his childish tone: “And this one, 
too, daddy. My legs may be gone, but my arms are all 
right, Daddy!” The man continued: “The man who 
comforted me most was not our preacher, and I am a 
good Churchman. It was not any of the Church mem¬ 
bers. It was the banker with whom I do business. 
He had heard about my boy’s raising his arms and 
saying: 'But I have still these left, daddy. They are 
all right still,’ and wanted to know if it were true, 
and I told him the story; and then he took me by the 
hand, and said something that was more comforting 
than anybody in the whole town had said to me. He 
said: 'Mitchell, the lad hasn’t lost his nerve, and that’s 
worth a thousand legs!’ ” 

Now, why did I tell you that story? First, because 
it appeals to me, and, second, because I want to im¬ 
press upon the circle of readers who “meditate” that it 
is the spirit with which we face a new experience, which 
is one of the greatest determining factors in its solu¬ 
tion. Now just let our little motto sing in your soul: 

“As thy days so shall thy strength be.” If there is 
anything that will give a man courage to face an ex¬ 
perience which he dreads, it is a promise like that. We 
face a new year, and there are many things which, we 

C58] 


“As Thy Days So Shall Thy Strength Be” 


feel may be very trying in store for us and for the 
nation to which we belong; but it is well to remind our¬ 
selves : 

“His love in time past forbids me to think 
He’ll leave me at last in trouble to sink.” 

His dealing in the past, and His promise for the 
days to come should give us steadfastness of soul. 

As I think over the terms of that promise, I fancy 
that it is more than a general pledge. You have to 
deal with it like an account at the bank. You have to 
“cheque” it out. You get the strength for the special 
day. Some of my readers can look back upon certain 
experiences, and say, “Often I wonder how I got 
through that at all.” 

A great peace fills their hearts as they begin to dis¬ 
cern the Divine care for them. The strength proved 
sufficient for the day. All kinds of days, bright days 
and dull ones, active days and inactive ones, days when 
the Saviour’s presence is most cheering, and other 
days when the Tempter shoots his fiery darts at the 
soul and wounds it sorely, days when business is good 
and other days when everything seems to go wrong; 
days when the body is tortured with pain and other ( 
days when the joy of life appears to surge in the veins 
—“As thy days so shall thy strength be.” 

Isn’t it a restful thing just to feel that the strength 
is given in view of our immediate need? Did you ever 
look up at your doctor and say, “How long, Doctor, 
must I lie here ?” and have the answer come, “Only a 
day at a time.” It is easier to live a day at a time. If 

[59] 


The Glory of His Robe 

some of us knew just what the future holds for us, 
we should soon be discouraged. But a day at a time, 
and strength for the day—that, as the Scots say, is a 
“different proposeetion. ,, 

“Just for to-day, whatever betide, 

Clasp our hands closer, walk by our side: 

Safe in Thy keeping, naught can affright. 

'V Following Jesus, darkness is light. 

Just for to-day, just for to-day, 

Guide us and keep us, just for to-day.” 


[60] 


XI 


FORGIVING ONE ANOTHER 

I S forgiveness a virtue or a weakness? Some folks 
do not care to give a verdict. They admit that, in 
many cases, forgiveness is very beautiful, but are apt 
also to declare that they admire such a precious jewel 
chiefly when it appears as an ornament in a queen’s 
crown. It is hardly amongst the moral excellences 
which they deem suitable to a strong positive nature. 
Hence, when they hear of some good man who “has 
not an enemy in the world,” they wonder why he 
wears a kilt when a petticoat would much more appro¬ 
priately advertise his pacific disposition. The fact is 
the average man regards a readiness to forgive offences 
as an indication of a weak character. 

An examination of any dictionary of quotations will 
convince the reader that the subject of forgiveness has 
not been popular with the writers who have made 
literature. Like some other subjects, it has been rele¬ 
gated to the pulpit. The fact that the central truth of 
the preacher’s message is the Divine forgiveness, leads 
a great many souls to regard him as effeminate, other¬ 
wise he would not glory in such a message; and the 
further fact that he repeats his Master’s command to 
His followers makes them sure that he is a weakling— 
“Love your enemies, do good to them that hate you, 

[61] 


The Glory of His Robe 

bless them that curse you, and pray for them that de- 
spitefully use you.” The average man in his serious 
moments has “a deal o’ tribble wi’ that order.” 

There is a story handed down by tradition regard¬ 
ing an old Highland chief who was about to depart 
into the land of shadows. He had been a famous 
fighter in his day, and had carried on many a quarrel 
that his father or his grandfather had begun. His 
spiritual adviser was summoned and told him that an 
appropriate preparation for the great change would be 
the forgiving of any one who had injured him. The 
old chief was surprised, but he knew that he was 
dying and wanted to be sure of his future; and so he 
asked: ‘‘Must Tonal forgive her?” And the answer 
came: “Yes. The Good Book says so.” “Well, Tonal 
forgives her.” Then the man of God spoke of a clan 
quarrel, which had been exceedingly bitter, and which 
seemed to grow more bitter as the years went by. He 
told the dying chief that he must forgive the chief of 
that other clan. The old man sat straight up on his 
couch—his indignation was so great. “Must Tonal do 
that?”—he almost screamed. “Yes,” was the quiet 
but firm answer. The old chief dropped back upon 
his bed saying, “Tonal will forgive her; but Angus, my 
son, your father’s curse be on you if you forgive her.” 
That story may or may not be true, but it is so in ac¬ 
cord with what we have seen in human nature that it 
has a certain degree of probability. That feud had 
existed for many years. It probably had been handed 
down from father to son; yet that old man, while 
hoping for the mercy of a Holy God, was providing 
[62] ' 


Forgiving One Another 

that that ancient quarrel should be perpetuated after 
he was gone. 

Now in view of that wee story and of some other 
things, let us just meditate upon the fifth petition of 
the Model Prayer. '‘Forgive us our trespasses for we 
forgive those who trespass against us.” Do we? Can 
we really use our forgiveness of our enemies as an 
argument with God ? "Oh, now,” you say, "isn’t there 
another reading of that petition?” Yes, there is, but I 
do not think that you will like it any better. Here it 
is: "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive them who 
trespass against us.” How do we forgive? Grudg¬ 
ingly, with the memory of the offence ever before us, 
without giving the offender the same confidence as 
before—isn’t it simply an awful prayer when we ask 
for forgiveness in the same measure as we forgive our 
enemies ? 

Do you remember the story which Jesus tells regard¬ 
ing the man who was forgiven by his king of a debt 
of some twenty-five millions of dollars? He has a 
debtor who owes him about sixteen dollars, and, for¬ 
getful of his own treatment by the king, he takes the 
poor wretch by the throat, saying: "Pay me that thou 
owest.” And when the debtor pleads as he did to his 
king, "Have patience with me and I will pay thee all,” 
he casts the poor chap into prison. Do you remember 
what happened to that hard-hearted creditor? The 
king had him arrested until he should pay his own 
enormous indebtedness—a hopeless undertaking. And 
Jesus concludes the story, "So shall also my Heavenly 
Father do unto you, if ye forgive not every one his 

[63] 


The Glory of His Robe 

brother from your hearts.” (Matt. 18: 35.) I confess 
that, whenever I meditate upon that Model Prayer and 
think of the fifth petition, it shakes my soul. I can 
quite understand the disciples, when they first heard 
it, crying in dismay, “Lord, increase our faith”; be¬ 
cause forgiving power grows as we cling to the Cruci¬ 
fied. 

But I have often marvelled at the command to do 
good to those that hate us. On the surface it would 
seem to be impossible of fulfilment. Yet the Lord is 
very wise. He knows that deep down in the human 
soul there is a real sympathy for the other fellow, and, 
when he would kindle the flame of love for an enemy 
in his adversary’s heart, he appeals to his most gener¬ 
ous instincts first. “If thine enemy hunger feed him; 
if he thirst give him drink.” Pity is declared to be 
akin to love. No man who has done a deed of kind¬ 
ness for one whom he has reason to regard as his 
enemy ever feels so bitterly towards him again. Do 
you believe that? Just read “Red Pepper’s Patients.” 
Ponder the enmity between the red-headed doctor and 
Van Horn, his greatest rival—“the man who has 
fought me by politely sneering at me, and circumvent¬ 
ing me when he could ever since I began my practice, 
and whom I have fought in my own way.” Read how 
Van Horn fell ill, and Burns was called upon to 
operate upon his ancient enemy. What a change that 
made! How all the generosity potential in that im¬ 
petuous nature seemed to manifest itself immediately! 

After three days spent continuously at the sick man’s 
bedside, Burns runs home for a brief rest and greets 

[64] 


Forgiving One Another 

his wife thus: “The game’s worth the candle, Len!” 
“Even though you have been burning the candle at 
both ends, dear? Yes, I know it is. I’m so glad— 
so glad.” “We’re sworn friends, Van and I. Can 
you believe it? Len, he’s simply the finest ever.” I 
have read and re-read that page again and again and 
marvelled at the wisdom of the Master Who, twenty 
centuries ago, taught His disciples, “If thine enemy 
hunger feed him.” He saw that an unselfish deed re¬ 
leases springs that will leap out of the soul to bless 
humanity, and, in the very act of blessing the enemy, 
will sweeten the whole nature of the giver. 

How can you qualify to offer the fifth petition of 
the Model Prayer, so searching in its character? Do 
a deed of kindness to your enemy. Repeat it until it 
becomes a habit. Perhaps then love will begin to 
glow in your heart. It is worth trying. But one 
thing is certain that, if we are to be happy with a holy 
God throughout eternity, we need some moral training 
down here; and hatred of one’s enemies does not af¬ 
ford it. I wonder whether earnest prayer and effort 
to overcome our hatreds might not help us to be more 
fit for heaven, and, what is of more concern to many 
people, more fit to live with here? That also is worth 
trying. 


[651 


XII 


MY FRIEND, THE MINISTER 

HERE are some folks who know very little con- 



1 cerning ministers. They started to protest 
against their unjustifiable interference with their per¬ 
sonal comfort at the time when they were christened, 
and they have kept it up ever since. There are other 
folks who regard the minister as a sort of harmless 
idealist, who lives so much in another world that he is 
a safe individual upon whom to bestow hand-me-down 
clothes and other relics of bygone days. There are 
many who pity him, for his income does not compare 
with that of other professional men who have spent 
the same number of years in preparation as he. And 
there are not a few who despise him, for they are very 
apt to estimate his intellectual worth according to its 
monetary value. But my friend, the minister, is in a 
class all by himself, and is well worth knowing. 

Did you ever stop to think that a larger percentage 
of the great scholars of the world come from the manse 
than from any other class in the country? Profes¬ 
sional men, statesmen and scholars are frequently the 
product of these homes. When you judge the clerical 
profession by the second generation you will discover 
that in brain-power the ministry is quite able to hold 


[66] 


My Friend, the Minister 

its own. Once in a while I hear of some individual 
who has been admitted to the sacred office in spite of 
a strange lack of intellectual qualifications for the 
cure of souls. I always think of what an Irishman 
told me in respect of a bull-frog that attempted to 
swim across the Atlantic. “Av coorse he wint to the^ 
bottom.” But the ministry as a class are as liberally 
furnished with grey matter as the rest of humanity, 
and in many cases, the minister would be an orna¬ 
ment to any of the learned professions. 

But my friend, the minister, possesses qualities of 
soul which compel consideration. I have a fairly wide 
acquaintance with ministers and Roman Catholic 
priests, and, while I have met a few shysters amongst 
them, I think that I can honestly say that the vast 
majority of them possess the altruistic spirit in large 
measure. There is only one other profession that can 
compare with the ministry in respect of self-sacrifice 
for the sake of humanity, and that is the medical one. 
My friend, the minister, has learned the duty and the 
joy of sacrificing himself for the sake of others. A 
selfish minister is a sort of curiosity. He is so rare 
that, when he does appear, his meanness seems abnor¬ 
mal in spite of the fact that it might be duplicated by 
that of the man who lives next door to the manse. We 
expect a minister to be kind and considerate, and gen¬ 
erous. That is why we used to pass all the tramps 
on to the manse, and, when we ourselves started out 
to collect for any charity, we tackled the minister first, 
for we felt sure that he was in sympathy with every 
good cause. My friend, the minister, is an easy mark 

[67] 


The Glory of His Robe 

for the unscrupulous; but I like him because of his 
love for and his faith in his fellow-men. 

And my friend, the minister, is generally a man 
whom you can trust. The kiddies like him, and when 
the children like a man you may be sure that he is a 
good man, especially if the kiddies’ mothers say: “I like 
that minister. He has such a good face.” A woman 
can tell you more about a man’s real worth than can 
the confidential report of any commercial agency or 
the investigating committee of any secret society. 
When a woman says that a man has a good face the 
last word has been said. When she declares that she 
does not like a man, you had better be careful about 
trusting him. Well, to get back to the minister. Who 
holds more family secrets than the minister ? 

To whom does the poor fellow in trouble go more 
frequently than to the minister? The stranger in a 
strange city has always one that he counts a friend, 
and that is the ill-paid minister who has a heart big 
enough to feel another’s woes. 

I have known my friend, the minister, to travel the 
streets going from factory to factory all day long, just 
because he wanted to get a job for a stranger who was 
“dead-broke”; and, when at last he was successful, to 
be as glad about it as if he had received a legacy from 
a Scotch uncle who, while generous at death, had been 
thrifty in his lifetime thereby making the legacy the 
more attractive. I have known him to give his last 
dollar to keep a poor family from starving. I have 
known him to sit up all night with the sick and dying. 

If you have a boy in a town far way from home, 

[ 68 ] 


My Friend, the Minister 

and you are anxious concerning his manner of life, to 
whom do you write asking him to take an interest in 
the laddie? Why, of course, nobody can do it quite 
so well as my friend, the minister. When your daugh¬ 
ter needs advice respecting life in a strange city, the 
minister is a fount of information, and incidentally can 
write a letter of introduction. When you discover 
that he is travelling to some city in which your laddie 
dwells, you feel that perhaps he might take a few 
minutes just to call on Jack. And the minister prom¬ 
ises, spoils half a day, squanders his nickels in street¬ 
car fares, two each way, comes back with the sense 
of duty well done singing in his soul, in spite of the 
fact that the extra expenditure led him to sacrifice his 
lunch. I wonder if you forgot to give him the car¬ 
fare. 

Who can help you over a hard place in life so well 
as my friend, the minister? He seems to have an in¬ 
stinct that leads him to understand the soul’s difficul¬ 
ties. And, when he is puzzled, have you ever noticed 
that he says: “Let us kneel down and ask Divine guid- -ch¬ 
ance about this?” After prayer you often feel that 
somehow the difficulty has been solved. He has 
brought you face to face with God, and God’s will has 
suddenly become clear to you. 

I have seen him settling family difficulties—you see 
my father was a minister—with an arm about a sob¬ 
bing young wife, who carried the baby in her arms and 
the other arm round a sulky young husband. I have 
heard him talk to them like a Dutch uncle. And then 
I have heard him pray while he held the little family 

[69] 


The Glory of His Robe 

close to him. And I tell you that prayer made one 
listener understand the solemnity and the glory of the 
marriage state. And I have seen him deliberately walk 
right out of the room saying to the quarrelling pair: 
"Now settle things between you; but remember that 
^ God is sorry about your differences.” And when he 
came back the room was filled with glory like the clear 
shining after rain. I have seen him pointing souls to 
Calvary. He delighted in that. I have heard him say 
to a visitor: "Well, what can I do for you?” And 
the answer would come tremblingly: "Can you tell me 
what I must do to be saved?” And there would be a 
strange glad note in the minister’s voice: "Of course 
I can. Believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and thou shalt 
be saved. Now, I’ll tell you just how Jesus saved 
me.” And the minister would go back to the day 
when the Spirit of God revealed to him his sin, tell of 
the awful burden that lay upon his heart during these 
anxious days, and then describe how at length he saw 
that Christ took his place on the Cross, suffered in his 
behalf, and that all he had to do was to trust the Living 
One Who died but is risen again. "Trust him as you 
do the doctor, when you are lying on the operating 
table. Trust him as the baby trusts the mother when 
she jumps into the outstretched arms.” And when 
the minister was asked, "Is that all?” he would say, 
"That is all I did, and He saved me.” And after pon¬ 
dering the wondrous news a moment, I have heard the 
visitor say: “Well, if you found salvation by doing 
that I guess that it is safe to risk it.” And there was 
joy in the presence of the angels that night, and a 

[70] 


My Friend , the Minister 

whole cage of singing birds were let loose in the minis¬ 
ter’s soul. 

I should like to tell you about my friend, the minis¬ 
ter, in the sick-room. When everybody is afraid to 
tell the patient that he is dying, we send for the minis¬ 
ter. And when folks have neglected God all their 
lives, they send for him to “prepare them to die.” And 
my friend comes to stand between the dying sinner and 
the holy God. His message centres about the Cross 
and the Sin-Bearer, and many a family has reason to 
thank God for the story of forgiveness proclaimed by 
the man of God who had himself learned the way to 
Calvary. And when the bodies of our dead are laid 
away, it is the big heart and the sympathetic voice of 
my friend, the minister, that makes the sympathy of 
Jesus more real to the sorrowful soul, for he has 
caught something of his Master’s spirit. God bless 
him, and may his tribe increase. 


XIII 


THE MINISTER S WIFE 


HE minister is back from his holidays, so the 



1 newspapers tell us. They add that he has bene¬ 
fited greatly by his vacation, and even announce the 
subjects upon which he will preach as he enters upon 
the season’s work. But they say nothing concerning 
the manse lady. That is just how she has been treated 
since the days of the Apostles. Did it ever strike you 
that, although we know the names of a good many 
preachers in the early Christian Church, we seldom 
hear of their wives? For example, we read that St. 
Peter “led about a sister a wife,” but we do not know 
any more about her. An old lady, whom I once met, 
thought that the famous apostle must have suffered 
from dyspepsia and got along best on his wife’s cook¬ 
ing, and so Mrs. Peter went with him on all his jour¬ 
neys. Now, that is hardly the view which a great 
multitude of folks hold respecting Peter, but it is 
worthy of consideration. There is no doubt, of course, 
that he was a married man. 

An examination of the evidence would go to show 
that Paul, too, was a benedict. In speaking ot the trial 
of the Christians in Jerusalem, he says, “I gave my 
voice against them,” and competent scholars have in¬ 
terpreted these words as showing that he was a mem- 


[72] 


The Minister’s Wife 

ber of the Jewish Sanhedrin, one of the qualifications 
for membership in that body being that the candidate 
must be married. Yet, while we hear much regarding 
the Apostle to the Gentiles, we hear nothing of Mrs. <~ 
Paul; and so some authorities have come to the con¬ 
clusion that, at the time of his conversion to Chris¬ 
tianity, he was a widower. In a famous passage in 
the first letter to the Corinthians, he refers to his wife¬ 
less condition, but says that “the rest of the Apostles 
and the brethren of the Lord and Peter” are married. 
Perhaps the shadow of a great domestic sorrow lay 
heavy upon his soul. It may be that he thought that 
a wanderer like himself could do better service if he 
were untrammelled by domestic ties. We know ab¬ 
solutely nothing about it. All we know is that he as¬ 
serted his right to marry if he chose. Some parsons 
have to do the same thing to-day. 

The right to marry is one thing; the wisdom of mar¬ 
rying under certain circumstances is quite another. 
Many a parson has had to face the fact that he has 
little to offer the woman whom he loves except part¬ 
nership in a life of Christian service. It speaks vol¬ 
umes for the lady of the manse that she did not turn 
down the preacher because he was poor. It is proof 
that she counts some things as better than gold. 
Where will you find a more unselfish class of women 
than those who make the manses, parsonages, and rec¬ 
tories of this country little bits of heaven, first for the 
minister, and afterwards for anybody who is fortunate 
enough to get a glimpse of a real Christian home? 
There are exceptions, of course. I am not claiming 

[73] 


The Glory of His Robe 

that all manse ladies are wearing angels’ wings; but I 
do think that the angels are often glad because of the 
kindly deeds of the average lady of the manse. I 
think too that her husband, in his prayers, thanks God 
for the wee woman who shares his poverty and his 
joys. The fact is the manse lady is an unusual woman. 
You see she did not marry the minister with her eyes 
shut. From afar she saw his proposal coming. She 
had to consider carefully, and pray about it; and, when 
she said “Yes,” I think the angels were happy, for 
they knew that she was vowed to companionship with 
a man whose calling was likely to develop the noblest 
and most unselfish qualities of her nature. 

However, the manse lady did not marry an angel. 
By that I mean to say that the minister is very human. 
There are times when his people are apt to think that 
he is so heavenly that all that he would have to do is 
just to lift his wings and soar away. That is when 
he is having a glorious time preaching. The manse 
lady sees him when the reaction has come and he is 
U" exhausted physically, mentally, and spiritually, and 
when, as I heard one preacher say, he is acting “like 
the devil.” Yet she never tells. “The minister is not 
very well to-day. You will excuse him, I know. Have 
you any message that I could give him?” The caller 
goes away impressed with the fact that if the minister 
is ill he has a wonderfully pleasant nurse. About that 
time her husband rises up and calls her blessed. 

How interested she is in the affairs of the congre¬ 
gation! Somebody says: “She ought to be. She is 
the minister’s wife.” I reply: “Yes. A true wife will 

[74] 


The Minister's Wife 

be interested in her husband’s work; but when the 
minister was called to the pastorate, his wife received 
no call.” It was a case of “married man preferred,” 
because it was hoped that the lady of the manse might 
act as an assistant pastor. Now that is not fair to the 
manse lady. The Lord knows, and we know, that the 
minister is a better and happier man because she is in 
charge of the manse; but I do not see that she is under 
any greater obligation to visit all the homes in the 
parish than is any other lady in the congregation. Her 
first duty is to her husband and her home. Some 
folks need to have that fact rubbed deep into their 
consciousness. Not a few ministers’ wives have been 
worn out prematurely because of the enormous de¬ 
mands made upon their time and strength by people 
who were better physically to undertake some tasks 
than they were. 

I do think, however, that we have a right to expect 
the minister’s wife to be a woman of prayer. I can¬ 
not understand how she can get any relief from her 
anxiety concerning her husband and his work if she 
has not learned the secret of casting the burden upon 
the Lord. And the prayer life reacts upon character. 
Yes, as a rule, the manse lady is a godly woman. 
Often her sweet, womanly face shows it. She moves 
about the parish, a silent blessing to many a soul. 

The manse lady is generally a mother. “The minis¬ 
ter aye has a sma’ steepend an’ mony bairns”—so an 
old Scot told me; and he was not far astray. Even if 
she have no children, the manse lady as a rule has the 
motherly heart. That is why the young folks trust 

[75] 


The Glory of His Robe 

her. Often they tell her things which they would not 
dream of telling their own mothers, and could not by 
any stretch of imagination be expected to tell the minis¬ 
ter. There are in every congregation young men and 
women, who have reason to thank God for the loving, 
motherly interest and quiet, sensible advice of the mis¬ 
tress of the manse. But what often stays longest in 
the memory is the little prayer she offered one night, 
when a lady, or perhaps it was a lassie, went to see her. 
That prayer was so direct that it seemed to the listener 
that God was very near; and that the manse lady had 
done much to help the troubled heart by putting the 
whole case before the Lord. 

The words of King Lemuel are appropriate to the 
minister’s wife: “The heart of her husband trusteth 
in her. She doeth him good and not evil all the days 
of her life.” And other people trust her and she does 
them good. Eternity alone will reveal how much we 
owe to the little, frequently ignored mistress of the 
manse. 


[76] 


XIV 


HAVE FAITH IN YOUR FELLOW-MEN 

W HEN I was a little lad I was afflicted with fever 
and ague. I remember how the cold chills used 
to run down my spinal column, to be succeeded by the 
shakes and finally by the fever; and I cannot help com¬ 
paring the sensations I experienced in the days of long 
ago with those which I have in these days, when some 
of my acquaintances begin to talk about the unrelia¬ 
bility, meanness and general cussedness of human na¬ 
ture. If I were to believe all that I hear, I should be 
afraid to trust anybody, I should regard humanity as 
being on the down-grade, and should be listening for 
the fiendish laughter of the pit which announces the 
collapse of virtue and the triumph of evil. However, 
am not revelling in any such mournful contemplations. 
Frankly, I am an optimist. There are many things in 
other folks that I do not like any too well, but then 
there are a good many things in myself that might 
be considerably improved. Consequently, as the years 
go by, I believe that I am becoming more charitable 
in my judgments and more ready to discount public 
rumour respecting some who are regarded as sinners 
above many. I fancy that many a man is ready to 
condemn his fellows because he has an exaggerated 
sense of his own goodness, or because he has had one 

[77] 


\y 


The Glory of His Robe 

unfortunate experience and leaps to the conclusion 
that humanity is made up of individuals who are ready 
to take advantage of him. “You can’t trust anybody,” 
he says. I have met some sour old maids and some 
crabbed old bachelors who said that very same thing, 
but it does not carry any weight with happy married 
folks like you and me. The fact is that the percentage 
of trustworthy people is a good deal higher than the 
average pessimist will admit; and it might be a great 
deal higher still if faith in our fellowman were re¬ 
garded as one of the foundation stones of honour, and 
honesty, and kindness. 

I have been re-reading a book by Harold Begbie, en¬ 
titled “Twice-Born Men.” It contains a number of 
studies of conversion amongst the submerged and 
criminal classes in Old London. One of these sketches 
deals with a man who started his prison career at nine 
years of age, and who, in his young manhood, was a 
thorough-going criminal. Through the influence of 
a prison companion who had reformed he came into 
touch with the Salvation Army, and there occurred in 
his experience one of those marvellous changes which 
can be explained only upon the assumption that God 
intervenes to aid the sinner. “What happened nobody 
knows. Joe himself is unable to explain. He knelt 
there and prayed. He rose feeling that he had suffi¬ 
cient strength to make a fight for a clean life. He was 
honest with the woman whom he asked to marry him. 
He says that he felt himself quite free from the net 
of crimes. The thing that most impressed me in the 
story was the fact that this poor crime-stained soul, 

[78] 



Have Faith in Your Fellow-Men 

in the midst of his rejoicings over the Divine forgive¬ 
ness, longed for some good woman who would trust 
him, love him and share his life with him. His pray¬ 
ers for a wife were answered one day. He told her 
about his hateful past, told of his wonderful deliver¬ 
ance, of his prayer to God for a wife, said that he 
could not help asking her but could not expect that she 
would marry him, for he might drift back and be what 
he was. But she married him, and the Divine love 
and trust and a good woman’s love and trust brought 
heaven into that poor sinner’s heart, and his acquain¬ 
tances marvelled at the strength of character which he 
developed. There is nothing that nerves a man to do 
his best like the assurance that God cares and another 
human heart cares, and that they trust him to the very ^ 
limit. 

I have been pondering over the evil that is wrought 
so often by the suspicious attitude which so many 
people assume towards others. There are mechanics 
who never do their best when a certain foreman is 
about, because he has a nose for trouble. There are 
some clerks to whom the presence of “the boss” is like 
a frost that withers everything it touches. There are 
moneyed men who take the heart out of honest hard¬ 
working neighbours, because they treat them like ras¬ 
cals rather than as men. There are parents who never 
coax the best out of their children because they never 
trust them, and then they wonder why the kiddies de¬ 
velop so much deception. There are married folks 
who do not trust each other, and yet marvel that they 
are not happy. It is an absolute fact that the measure 

[79] 


The Glory of His Robe 

of your faith in the other fellow is the measure of the 
loyalty and service which he will return to you. “With 
whatsoever measure ye mete, it shall be measured to 
you again.” 

Some years ago I read of a man in a certain village 
who had a very fine orchard. The previous owner had 
had trouble with the village boys, and declared that 
they would steal everything in sight. He had chased 
them out with dog and gun, but the boys seemed to 
be unscareable. The new owner put up a sign: “Boys, 
come in and have an apple. The best tree in the or¬ 
chard is reserved for you.” Do you think there was 
any stealing after that? If you do you do not under¬ 
stand boy-nature. The apple owner was the boys’ 
friend. He trusted them, and they were ready to de¬ 
fend his property. That story emphasises the point 
which I am trying to make. 

But somebody rises to object that you dare not 
trust everybody. You must be careful whom you 
trust. Well, now, I wonder which is the more Chris¬ 
tian principle to go on: “Treat every man as a rogue 
until you prove him to be an honest man” or “Treat 
every man as an honest man until you have proved 
him otherwise.” I wonder which principle gives the 
best returns in the long run. What Jesus thinks about 
it is worthy of consideration. There is nothing that 
leads me to adore Him more than the fact that He is 
so ready to trust men, that we should be ready to con¬ 
demn right off the bat as utterly unworthy of confi¬ 
dence. Recall the story of Peter the Fisherman, who 
denied his Lord with oaths and curses, and after the 



Have Faith in Your Fellow-Men 


Resurrection was sought out by the Master in the ever- 
memorable message: “Go tell my disciples and Peter.” 
Why “and Peter?” Don’t you feel the thrill of it? 
Does your heart not glow over the magnanimity of it? 
I always like to ponder the scene a few days later 
when, at the Sea of Galilee, the Lord asked His dis¬ 
credited follower if he loved Him, and, when He had 
received an affirmative answer, told him to tend His 
lambs. Read the twenty-first chapter of John’s Gospel, 
and you will be impressed with the fact that our Lord 
trusted the very man that you and I would condemn as 
cowardly, ungrateful, unreliable. 

But did he make good? Was our Lord’s faith in 
Him justified? Read the story of Peter’s life. Ima¬ 
gine the scene on the Day of Pentecost, when this one¬ 
time coward suddenly developed into a mighty defender 
of the new faith. Read the tradition of his martyrdom 
at Rome—crucified head downwards because he con¬ 
sidered himself to be unworthy to die like his Master; 
and then ponder the question whether our Lord does 
not get the best results from human nature by His 
readiness to trust even such a weakling as could not 
endure the sneer of a slip of a girl. And would it not 
be worth-while asking if the same sort of treatment 
might not be worthy of a good, fair trial in our deal¬ 
ings with our fellow-men? 


[81] 


XV 


THE SOUL’S OUTLOOK 

1 HAVE been buying spectacles. It is not the first 
time that I have done such a thing; but this time 
I have done something that is noteworthy—I have 
come back from the opticians possessed of a pair of 
glasses perfectly circular in form, bound in tortoise 
shell, possessed of ear lugs, and so generally prosper¬ 
ous in appearance that I can scarcely recognise myself 
as I look into the mirror. But I can see, and that is 
the purpose for which we purchase glasses. 

It is the most natural thing in the world that I 
should be meditating upon the soul’s outlook. These 
new glasses of mine have suggested the subject. It is 
wonderful how a new pair of lenses will affect your 
outlook upon life. I am told that some people would 
not be so pessimistic if only they would expend a little 
money for the correction of their sight; for poor eye¬ 
sight is at the back of not a few physical and mental 
ills which afflict the sons and daughters of men. Be 
that as it may, it is a most important thing to have a 
cheerful outlook. 

Robert Louis Stevenson, that cheerful and brave in¬ 
valid who fought for his life while he wrote his books, 
once expressed the hope that his view of the outside 
world might not be coloured by the medicine bottles 
[8a] 


The Soul's Outlook 


upon his shelf. There is a time in our lives when we 
like to look through the druggist’s window. Do you 
not remember, when, as a wee laddie, you watched the 
evening shadows lengthen, and peered through the 
window out into the street until you could announce 
with triumph, “Oh, Mother! I see the big, green bottle 
mow!” The light had just been turned on in the 
apothecary’s window, and the big bottle shone out in 
all its glory. Since that day you may have reason to 
dislike the sign of the green bottle, for it reminds you 
of many a day of sickness and suffering for you and 
your loved ones. Now you are apt to wonder how a 
druggist can be cheerful, and especially how he can ad¬ 
vertise his cheerfulness by means of the big glass bot¬ 
tles which shine so brightly by day and night. If you 
were choosing the colour for the medicineman’s window 
decoration, you would choose a deep indigo, and thereby 
you would make the drug store less attractive to the 
young and more in accordance with your own feelings 
regarding the drug business. 

Perhaps the reason that so many druggists are so 
sunny in disposition is that they look over or around 
their big coloured bottles and not through them. Have 
you ever thought that a great many folks are always 
looking upon life through medicine bottles? Haven’t 
you been tempted to think that the nasty bitter taste of 
the compound contained in the said highly coloured 
glass holders has found a place upon their tongues, and 
has influenced all their language ? Do you know folks 
who always have “a tale of woe to tell you?” Nice 
people to meet, are they not? I wonder if you ever 

[b 3 ] 


The Glory of His Robe 

gaze upon the world through the medicine bottle ? Do 
ills and disappointments of life sour you, and make 
you hard to live with? Sometimes little honest self- 
examination is good for the soul. It is like wiping 
one’s glasses. It gives us a clearer outlook. I wonder 
whether we do not sometimes look upon the “good 
luck” of some other fellow through the green bottle 
of envy. And, when bereavement comes, do we not 
often gaze through the indigo bottle in the sure convic¬ 
tion that that is exactly the shade for the sorrowful 
soul? It is a good thing just to remember that the 
coloured bottle is an artificial barrier interposed be¬ 
tween us and the sunshine. And God’s sun still shines. 

Do you remember when as a child you had to find 
grandfather’s glasses? It was quite a chore, for grand¬ 
father had two pairs—his “near-bys” and “fur-offs,” 
and they were very apt to get mixed. And do you 
know that I think a good many people are continually 
mixing their spectacles to-day? They wear their “near- 
bys” all the time, when it would do them good just to 
wear their “fur-offs” occasionally. My minister told 
a story last Sunday concerning a woman who for some 
mysterious reason was losing her sight. She lived in 
a narrow street. If she looked out of the front window 
she gazed into a blank brick wall. If she looked out 
of the back window things were little better. If she 
climbed to the second story she could still gaze upon 
the dull monotony of city housing. “But,” said the 
doctor, “have you not a third story?” “Yes,” said the 
patient. “Then climb up there, and look out over the 
tops of the houses, away over the city smoke and dust, 

[84] 


The Soul's Outlook 


away to the hills—you must have something to relieve 
the eye-strain.” And so that woman used to climb up 
two flights of stair each day just to get a glimpse of 
the far-away hills. 

I do not think that I heard very much more of the 
sermon, for my mind was at work. I was thinking of 
the days of my boyhood, the time when I committed 
to memory the one hundred and twenty-first Psalm in 
the Scots version, and of the comfort that Psalm has 
been to me ever since: 

“I to the hills will lift mine eyes 

From whence doth come mine aid; 

My safety cometh from the Lord 
Who heaven and earth hath made.” 

Many a time have I , looked upon the mountains, the 
everlasting hills, and never do they fail to bring to my 
mind the thought of God’s greatness, nearness, quiet¬ 
ness and strength. Perhaps I am peculiarly susceptible 
to the beauty of nature, and that that is the reason 
that my soul responds to the message which she pro¬ 
claims so wonderfully. One thing I do know—the 
soul must have an outlook. She cannot remain day 
after day, and year after year, gazing simply at dull 
duty, heavy burdens, bitter sorrows. She must get a 
sight of the heavenly hills touched with the golden 
sunlight. Eternal truth, righteousness, justice, abound¬ 
ing love and mercy—these are the mountain peaks she 
loves to view. 

One beautiful day I was coming away from the Ter¬ 
race which looks down over the harbour of Quebec. 

[85] 


The Glory of His Robe 

My soul was thrilled by the wonder of the vision spread 
before our eyes. An American visitor said to me: 
“Ain't it lovely ? The folks that always live here ought 
to be good.” Alas! He forgot that physical beauty 
does not always produce moral results upon the be¬ 
holder, and that some spectators have no eye for the 
beautiful. Yet no one can get a glimpse of the eternal 
hills regularly without having his life affected by the 
vision. That is why the family altar should be kept 
up and church attendance be regular. We need to lift 
our eyes to “the hills from whence cometh our help.” 


[86] 


XVI 


PAIN AND ITS COMPENSATIONS 

T HE problem of pain is a very ancient one. It 
looms up in the Book of Genesis. It occupies the 
middle of the stage in the Book of Job. In the Prophecy 
of Isaiah the suffering servant of Jehovah claims our 
attention; and in the New Testament we have to face 
the fact that salvation for the individual is closely re¬ 
lated to the suffering of the Great Substitute. When 
our Lord was about His work, He was asked concern¬ 
ing a blind man: “Lord, who did sin, this man or his 
parents, that he was born blind ?” That question is 
an indication that the lesson of the Book of Job had 
not taken hold of the Jewish mind, but that multitudes 
of people still believed that all suffering is a sure proof 
that the sufferer is being punished for his own wrong¬ 
doing or the wrong-doing of others. Jesus in His 
reply shattered that theory: “Neither did this man sin 
nor his parent; but that the works of God should be 
made manifest in him. ,, Often suffering is a conse¬ 
quence of sin; but it is not always a sure proof that the 
sufferer is being punished for his personal wrong-do¬ 
ing. When you get that clearly in your mind, you 
have gone some distance towards a solution of the 
problem. Why do good people suffer? It is not al¬ 
ways because of their personal wrong-doing. 

[87] 


The Glory of His Robe 

There is much suffering in the world that is very 
mysterious. Even the individual who talks very 
learnedly concerning the law of heredity and who can 
trace a great deal of suffering to a violation of the 
laws of nature, is often compelled to admit that some 
cases of suffering are so inscrutable that he cannot 
throw the least light upon them. He simply does not 
know. When a man comes to the end of his knowl¬ 
edge and admits it, we respect him; but most of us 
have a hearty dislike for the know-it-all. The most 
disagreeable specimen of this class is the man who can 
explain the secret of his neighbour’s troubles, e. g., 
why he lost his money, why his wife or child died, why 
he has been laid aside through illness, in fact every 
trying experience which the poor fellow next door has 
to face. These, he explains, are all judgments of the 
Lord upon him because of his sins. However, when 
the same Mr. Know-it-all has to pass through similar 
experiences, he regards them not as judgments, but as 
trials. His favourite religious poem is the thirty- 
fourth paraphrase. 

“The troubles which afflict the just 
In number many be.” 

How that same Mr. Know-it-all walks rough-shod 
over many a sensitive soul does not need to be re¬ 
peated here. He does exactly what “the unco guid 
freens o’ Job” did long ago. He slanders both the 
sufferer and his God. 

Instead of endeavouring to explain the mystery of 

[ 88 ] 


Pain and Its Compensations 

suffering, I am writing respecting a few of its 
compensations. Did it ever strike you that suffering 
often comes to a soul to open his eyes to the good 
qualities in other people. You smile and say, “That 
is not much compensation for severe and terrible ex¬ 
periences.Is it not? Character-making is a very 
slow process. Some qualities develop much more 
slowly than others. Self-appreciation is of mush¬ 
room growth. Altruism is like the oak. It requires 
years and storms to bring it to its maturity. Whose 
soul is more beautiful than his, who is appreciative of 
others? Whose more disagreeable than that of him 
whose list of likeable people is significantly short? 
But, when the day of weakness and pain comes, have 
you not seen many a sufferer becoming wonderfully 
appreciative of the kindness done to him ? How often 
you have seen the tears start to the eye as he was told 
of some one’s goodness to him. Yes, the beautiful 
flower of altruism, love for our fellow-men, is often 
grown in hearts that are broken and torn through pain 
and suffering. 

And then, you are aware, of course, that many a 
soul would not realise the sympathy of the Saviour 
were it not for his experience of pain. It is an un¬ 
speakable help to the soul just to think that Christ suf¬ 
fered pain in order to help us in our hours of suffer¬ 
ing. One night, while I was tossing restlessly upon 
my bed in the hospital, I began to think of the relation 
of Jesus Christ to suffering. I thought of His prayer 
in Gethsemane, “Father, if it be possible, let this cup 
pass from Me.” My soul began to feel as never before 

[89] 


The Glory of His Robe 

what suffering meant to the Son of God. Then I re¬ 
called the words of the writer to the Hebrews, in that 
wonderful chapter, which tells of Jesus crowned with 
glory and honour because of the suffering of death, 
that, by the grace of God, He should taste death for 
every man. In that lonely hour, I saw that Jesus, by 
the very fact of his suffering, is linked in a very special 
fashion with humanity; and, somehow, the pain was 
easier to bear, because I had called to mind the old 
truth that He had a real human experience, and that 

“Our Fellow-Sufferer still retains 
A fellow-feeling of our pains.” 

Others, no doubt, have been helped, as I was, through 
meditation upon the sufferings of the Saviour. 

Pain sometimes opens the door to a \ery gracious 
ministry. When you have fathomed the depths of 
pain or sorrow yourself you can minister more effi¬ 
ciently to souls distressed. That is why, under certain 
circumstances, you prefer a minister of mature years 
to visit a patient. He is more likely to understand, 
and, therefore, to sympathise with one who is facing 
the problems of pain and sorrow. 

Did you ever hear that Dr. George Mathieson’s great 
hymn, “O love that will not let me go,” was written 
out of a heart that was wounded and bleeding? As I 
recall the story, the author lost his sight in a hunting 
accident, and his betrothed jilted him on account of 
his blindness. “Not much compensation for pain 
there,” you say. But listen to the words that have 
cheered many a sore heart: 

[90] 


Pain and Its Compensations 

“O joy, that seekest me through pain, 

I cannot close my heart to Thee; 

I trace the rainbow through the rain, 

And feel the promise is not vain 
That morn shall tearless be.” 

The Apostle Paul wrote many centuries ago: “Our 
light affliction, which is but for a moment, worketh out 
for us a far more exceeding and eternal weight of 
glory.” Some folks have interpreted these words as 
implying that all pain’s compensations come to us in 
the future life; but others have found that an earnest 
of the future glory is often received by the sufferer 
during his life here, and that that earnest is wonder¬ 
fully sweet and blessed. Much depends upon the atti¬ 
tude we take towards pain—is it a trial or a means of 
grace ? 


XVII 


THE MESSAGE OF “THE ANGELUS” 

O NE of the most popular of the modern paintings 
is by a Belgian artist, Millet, “The Angelus.” 
The scene which it depicts is a very homely one, and 
at first sight very commonplace—a potato field and 
two figures, a man and a woman, surrounded by the 
implements of their toil. It is a dull, bleak landscape, 
and away across the level tract you see a village with 
the church spire rising above the lowly roofs. It is 
evening and the bell has rung out its call to prayer. 
Its silvery chime has reached the ears of the two 
labourers, and after the devout manner of their coun¬ 
try, they have hearkened to its call. They have 
dropped their tools, and they are standing erect, with 
bowed heads and folded hands, in the attitude of 
prayer. The late Professor Henry Drummond used 
to say that that picture suggests the three elements of 
a complete life. The field, the spade, the basket and 
the barrow—there is work; the bowed heads and the 
folded hands—there is religion; the two, a man and a 
woman, whatever be their relationship—there is love. 
^ If any one of these be lacking, a life is incomplete. 

Work is the foundation of life. It is a necessity. 
It is a sacred thing. Now that appears to be saying a 
good deal. Whatever view you may take respecting 
the authorship of the Book of Genesis, you must admit 

[92] 


The Message of “The Angelas” 


that the writer of that famous old document is very 
wise when he represents the first man not as a loafer, 
but as a worker. There have always been a few per¬ 
sons who have regarded work as a curse rather than as 
a blessing; but we are learning to-day that physical, in¬ 
tellectual, and spiritual health depend upon it. That 
is the verdict of medical men at any rate, and who 
have a better right than they to speak of the blessings 
of work. They know far better than any groucher the 
evil of overwork, and often order patients to take a 
rest; but any physician will tell you that work is abso¬ 
lutely necessary to physical health. I have known 
farmers to retire from the farm because they had 
reached what is considered old age, or because one of 
the boys had married, and was suggesting to the old 
man that he have a chance to see if he could make 
the farm go. And in order that the farm might go, 
the old man had to go, and he took up his abode in 
town or village; and soon the “vittals” lost their good 
taste, and the liver got slow, and the old man couldn’t 
understand why he was feeling so miserable with not a 
blessed thing to do. But haying came on, and he went 
out to the old farm to help Bill for a few days, and 
the liver resumed its old tone, and the old man could 
stow away vittals enough to make “Ma” turn pale 
whenever she thought of “Pa’s” poor liver. But she 
needn’t have worried. Pa was suffering like many 
another man because he hadn’t enough to do, and when 
he got a job, the blood in his veins began to sing 
“Glory, Glory Hallelujah,” instead of “I should like ' 
to die, said Willie.” 


[93] 


The Glory of His Robe 

Every normal individual wants a chance to subdue. 
Man was created in order that he might overcome na¬ 
ture. That old Belgian picture is a continual reminder 
of the difficulties overcome by the dwellers in that land 
by the North Sea. What a story it tells of how the 
sea has been dammed back by artificial embankments; 
how barren sand has become fertile through heavy 
spade labour and generous manuring; how, in the 
region between the Scheldt and the Meuse, where the 
farms average only five acres in size, the greatest sacri¬ 
fice has been necessary to create and maintain fertile 
fields! Look at the picture once more and rejoice that 
man, aided by the simplest tools, can overcome and 
subdue nature. Here was no soft job. It is still hard 
enough. But the same indomitable spirit that con¬ 
quered the sea has shown that it can stand firm against 
a powerful and blustering foe that threatened the na¬ 
tional life of the people. 

There is joy in good hard work. I am aware that 
this statement will be criticised by some of my readers, 
but I am putting it down here after carefully thinking 
it over. What does a man mean when he says to his 
physician: “Doctor, I have lost my ambition” ? That 
fellow might deny that he loves his job, he might be 
too bashful to declare that he gets much satisfaction 
out of it, but when he loses his ambition he becomes 
alarmed and hies away to a medico, thereby acknowl¬ 
edging that work is absolutely necessary to any real 
joy in life. I am not speaking of the little chap whose 
chest swells with pride because he has got his first job, 
nor of the fellow who loves to wear the livery of toil 

[94] 


The Message of “The Angelus” 


even if he knows none of its sorrows—I am speaking* 
of men who understand how the burdens chafe the 
shoulders and the difficulties fret the spirit. These are 
the men who become anxious when they lose their 
ambition. Then the secret joy departs from life, and 
they wake up to the fact that even in drudgery there 
is blessing. 

Millet’s picture suggests also that love is a very im¬ 
portant factor in a normal life. Belgium is a country 
whose inhabitants are for the most part toilers. I 
have noticed that poverty usually presses home upon 
the consciousness of the burden-bearer the need of 
sympathy. If you read the words of the Glorified 
One in the Book of Revelation, you will find that it is 
the church that is rich and increased in goods that 
says that she has need of nothing. And you will dis¬ 
cover, if you do a little quiet observation, that the old 
bachelors are not numerous amongst the toilers, but 
find congenial company amongst the well-to-do. 
Youthful marriages seem to be the normal state of 
things in working communities. While some of them 
are failures, I believe that when young people strug¬ 
gle together out of poverty into independence they 
have greater love for each other than couples who 
have begun their married lives with no financial difficul¬ 
ties to overcome. Be that as it may, love is the very 
making of the individual. The character is sweetened 
and brightened, it becomes capable of sacrifices that 
were never dreamed of in the old days; yes, it achieves, 
for the sake of love, the noblest and the best. 

And work and love need to be supplemented by re- 


The Glory of His Robe 

ligion. Work without love is drudgery, work and love 
without religion tragedy. Into the lives filled with 
labour and blessed with love must come the sound of 
“The Angelus,” the call to prayer, the reminder that 
God ought to have a place in our lives. In too many 
cases work or love seem to crowd God out. The 
drudgery of toil, the preciousness of affection combine 
to lead people to forget God. Let me tell you of a 
case that came under my notice. The man was past 
middle life and had been a most successful toiler. He 
knew all about the joy there is in overcoming nature. 
He had experienced the satisfaction of beholding the 
reward of his toil, for he was fairly wealthy. Into his 
life there came a woman much younger than himself, 
and he loved her. That heart, that had found its 
greatest joy in subduing mountains and bridging rivers, 
was roused to the fact that there was something more 
satisfying. He longed for her affection. One day he 
discovered that she loved him. It was almost unbe¬ 
lievable. The man went about with a new look in his 
face and a new tone in his voice, and his friends said, 
“What has happened to Jim?” One day old Jim mar¬ 
ried and they were wondrously happy. They thought 
that they could never be happier—but a baby came. 
What bliss! Jim and his wife just knew that nobody 
ever had experienced anything like it. They exulted 
in their love. They rejoiced in the tenderness and 
mystery of parentage. Months passed by and baby 
took ill, and slowly faded before their eyes. When he 
passed away, a sympathetic neighbour asked the 
stricken father who was his minister. He answered 

[96] 


The Message of “The Angelas” 


that they had none. “I was too busy in my younger 
days to take much interest in religion. Lately I have 
been so happy that I have forgotten all about church.” 
“Let me call a minister,” said the caller. “I shall be 
most grateful if you do.” And the man of God came 
into that stricken home. His sympathetic hand-clasp, 
his loving look at the waxen baby-face, his tear-filled 
eye as he said, “My baby-boy was much like him; he 
also has gone to be with the Good Shepherd; I wonder ^ 
if the two babies have become friends yet?” drew the 
hearts of Jim and Bessie to him. He talked in the 
most natural fashion about the Father, and the Father’s 
House, and the Saviour, and his words fell into good 
soil. And then he took out a little book and said, “Let 
me read what the Bible says about children.” And 
when he had read a little, he began to talk to God 
as if He were a very dear friend, and Jim and Bess 
felt the awful pain go out of their hearts. They 
longed with a great longing to feel the love of the 
Heavenly Father who loved their baby; and, in that 
hour, two hearts were given to the Saviour 
and two lives devoted to His service, and an 
awful sorrow did not darken into a tragedy. They 
have another baby now, and every Sunday you may 
hear him crowing with delight as his father walks up 
the aisle to lift the offering. 


[97] 


XVIII 


WORRY 


HERE are some folks who are past-masters in 



X the art of worrying. If they have nothing to 
worry about they will invent something, and what they 
invent will possess more terrors than anything that has 
substance, and form and reality. If they were with¬ 
out something to worry about, they would worry be¬ 
cause they were free from care, and would think that 
they were heading straight for the asylum. In fact 
David Harum’s famous remark might very well be 
adapted and applied to them. “A certain amount of 
fleas is good for a dog. It keeps him from brooding 
on being a dog/’ And these good people appear to 
think that a certain amount of worry is necessary to 
ward off some greater evil. 

What a trial the man with the double chin and the 
cheery laugh is to the fellow who is continually worry¬ 
ing. He regards that chin as an insult to himself. 
What business has any fellow to sport a double chin 
when the world is in such a serious state ? What right 
has any fellow to go about with a twinkle in his eye 
when there is so much sorrow in the earth ? This is a 
time for weeping, not for joking. I heard of one of 
these sad-faced saints, who was pouring out his soul in 
grievous lamentations at a religious meeting. He had 


[98] 


Worry 

brought down the temperature of the gathering until 
it was like a dull chilly March day. You could feel the 
weather in your very bones. After the good man had 
resumed his seat, another man, one with a rubicund 
countenance, and an expansive smile, took the floor, 
and in a few minutes the whole meeting was convulsed 
with laughter. Then the modern successor to Jeremiah 
rose to his feet, and, in solemn tones, exclaimed, 
“Brethren, we should not be giving way to undue 
levity in this fashion. We should be weeping over 
our sins.” At once the cheerful idiot proposed that 
the doleful brother lead the company in weeping, and 
once more the audience was convulsed. Now, I am 
not defending that sort of treatment at all times, but I 
fancy that I have seen occasions when a cheerful idiot 
would be a regular godsend to a crowd of people, who 
were depressed by some miserable soul who had man- 
aged to worry them with troubles, which were largely 
the children of his own disordered brain. 

Now, worry is often due to temperament. People 
who are nervous are very apt to be very subject to 
anxiety. They tell you that they are like their father 
or mother, and they seem to be quite proud that they 
are perpetuating such a distinguishing family charac¬ 
teristic. From what they say you would come to the 
conclusion that worrying, like red hair, runs in families. 
I suppose that they are right, for I have seen infant 
faces that have wrinkled up with worries that were 
apparently too great for the baby mind to carry. My! 
how the poor little ones fret their infant souls over 
ills too great for them to find words to express. And 

[99] 



The Glory of His Robe 

men are just overgrown infants. They worry also, 
and why they worry is very hard to explain. It is 
likely just an inheritance from one of their ancestors 
who had an unusual power in the direction of fretting 
himself concerning many things. 

I read a story the other day that contains a moral 
not only for mothers, but for a great many others as 
well. “Yes,” said the old man, “she’s pretty well, 
Mother is, if ’twant for worrying about the children. 
Lizbeth is at Conway. She took the school there. 
Samuel’s boarding place is across the river. Some¬ 
times he crosses on the ferry, and sometimes on the 
canoe, but although he is a good swimmer Mother is 
always expecting him to get drowned. The two 
younger ones are at home. John wants to strike out 
for himself, but Mother thinks that if he does he will 
never come back. She was afraid she’d never raise 
Car’line, but she did, but she hain’t got over that 
old worry. There’s nothing special the matter with 
any of them. The truck garden’s done well this year, 
and Mother’s well. She has no rheumatism this year. 
She’s all right if ’twasn’t for worrying. Christian? 
Bless you, yes! This forty year. She ain’t afraid but 
what the Lord will take care of her and the rest of 
the world, but seems like as if she ain’t got faith to be¬ 
lieve He’s to be trusted with the children.” 

Now is that not true to life? We all have a little 
corner that we feel we are responsible for, and we can¬ 
not trust even the blessed Lord Himself to take care 
of it for us. We stew and fret and chafe and make 
our souls miserable just because we cannot cast our 
[ioo] 


Worry 

burden upon Him. We are like the poor fellow, who 
was going along a country road carrying a heavy grip. 

A farmer invited him to ride in his wagon, but the man 
instead of putting the grip down on the bottom of the ]/ 
wagon, carried it upon his knees. The farmer sug¬ 
gested that he would be more comfortable if he laid 
the grip down, but the traveller thought that he would 
be happier if he felt the weight, for then he would 
know that it had not got away from him. At the bot¬ 
tom of a great deal of our worrying is a lack of faith 
in God. We are afraid to trust Him with our affairs. 

There are some considerations which are worth pon¬ 
dering. The man or woman who is a chronic wor¬ 
rier entirely ignores the New Testament teaching re¬ 
specting God’s care for the individual. It would do- 
some folks a lot of good just to sit down, some Sab¬ 
bath afternoon, and turn up the passages that show 
just how definite is the teaching respecting the Divine 
love for, and watchfulness over, the individual. You 
know that it is easy to feel that, in the vast multitude, 
we may be forgotten. I suppose that is why the 
Master gave us the parables of the lost sheep, the lost 
coin, and the lost son. Just read the fifteenth chapter 
of Luke and do not say to yourself, “These stories 
were told to a few Jews nineteen hundred years ago, 
and have no application to me.” Say rather, “God is 
the same now as then. Let me see how Jesus repre¬ 
sents Him in this talk.” You will find that this chap¬ 
ter will be a soul-bracer. You will get a glimpse of the 
care of God for you. Then read the twelfth chapter 
of the same Gospel, and see how He cares for the 
[ioi] 


The Glory of His Robe 

sparrows and the ravens, and the lilies, and the grass, 
and how the Master rings the changes upon the 
thought, “Why are ye anxious ?” Can you not trust 
the Father who does not forget the birds of the air 
and the flowers of the field? 

Then it is worth while remembering that this won¬ 
derful Father is accessible to our cry. Through Jesus 
Christ we may approach Him. We may lay our case 
before Him. It has always done me much good to re¬ 
member the human nature of my Lord. There are a 
great many things that I do not understand concerning 
Jesus Christ, but I understand sufficient concerning 
Him to get a world of comfort out of Him. He is 
Divine but He is human also, and somehow his human¬ 
ity brings him very close to me. Because He is a man 
He understands me. He sympathises with me, He is 
ready to help me. He has been through my experiences 
and so is qualified to understand my case. I tell you, 
my worrying friend, that that means a great deal. An 
acquaintance of mine told me that when his wife died 
a great many folks tried to comfort him, but, as he 
put it, “Their words did not hit the spot.” He could 
not shed a tear. He was stunned by the awfulness of 
what had befallen him. At last a friend came in. He 
did not say much, but he put his arm across the shoul- 
" ders of the stricken man, and said, “Old man, I have 
been through it all.” And that man said that it seemed 
as if at last he had found one who understood, and the 
healing balm fell upon his soul from that hour. Jesus 
— understands. Do not carry the burden alone. Tell 
God all about it as you approach Him through Jesus 
[102] 


Worry 

Christ; be assured of His sympathy, for the man who 
has seen Jesus has seen the Father; cast your burden 
upon the Lord and do not try simply to worry along; 
remember that your affairs are in far safer hands than 
yours; rest upon God’s Fatherhood, wisdom, love and 
power; and instead of worry, there will be sunshine in 
your soul. 


XIX 


OILING THE HINGES OF THE CHURCH DOOR 

W HEN I was a little fellow I used to attend an 
old-fashioned church whose door was hung 
upon old-fashioned hinges, and occasionally they 
squeaked most villainously. The door opened directly 
into the meeting-house, and, whenever a worshipper 
entered the building, everybody had due notice of his 
arrival. The squeaky old hinges lent an added charm 
to church attendance in the estimation of one small 
worshipper. But one day just before the service started, 
a newcomer into the congregation produced from his 
breast pocket a bottle of oil and a feather, and under¬ 
took to anoint the dry, rusty hinges of the ancient edi¬ 
fice. The job was well done. When the senior deacon 
arrived, as far as receiving any notice from the vocifer¬ 
ous old hardware was concerned, he was as unimpor¬ 
tant as the town scavenger. He seemed to be rather 
surprised that the door did not act as usual; but after 
the service was over he duly praised the thoughtful¬ 
ness of the brother who had removed the vocal chords 
from the hinges of the meeting-house door. More¬ 
over, the oil had made it easier to push the door open; 
and I remember how I used to exert my small strength 
in opening and closing that ancient piece of carpentry 
after the man with the oily feather had operated there¬ 
upon. Oil is a fine thing for dry, rusty hinges. 

[104] 


Oiling the Hinges of the Church Door 

I have been thinking that nowadays we do not suffer 
from a lack of oil for church-door hinges. Ball-bear¬ 
ings make easy the task of pushing open the door into 
the church. A little turn of the handle and you are in 
almost before you are aware that the deed has been 
done. The hinges work so smoothly and noiselessly 
that nobody else knows that you are in unless he has 
actually seen your initiation into the Church of God. 
The church door swings open far more easily than 
that of any other organisation that I am acquainted 
with. In fact, some folks wonder if there is any door 
at all, for so little is demanded of prospective members. 

I have a vivid recollection of the kind of reception 
that my application for membership in a certain well- 
known secret order received. My name was read out 
in a regular meeting of the lodge and was referred to a 
committee, who reported one month later. In the 
meantime every member of the lodge was notified, that 
on a given evening, the name would be ballotted upon. 
The door of membership was safeguarded. I suggest 
a question: Why should we not be as careful in guard¬ 
ing entrance into the Church ? Is the Church of God 
not the holiest organisation upon earth? Has she not 
a mission that demands that we see to it that men of 
faith comprise her membership ? Is it not of prime im¬ 
portance that she shall have a good report from “them 
that are without” ? Is there not a danger in taking the 
old-fashioned, slow-working, stiff, squeaky hinges from 
the door and establishing a modern revolving door that 
gathers folks up and shoots them into the church al¬ 
most before they can draw their breath? It is an in- 


The Glory of His Robe 

teresting spectacle to see the multitude passing in, but 
is that the way to make the church’s witness clear and 
strong ? 

I am not a “church knocker.” I am a friend of the 
Church, and am certain that no other organisation can 
take her place. She is the Divinely appointed instru¬ 
ment for carrying the gospel message to the very ends 
of the earth. There has been too much mud-slinging 
at the Church and too little recognition of her Divinely 
appointed mission. When the Church makes herself 
cheap, the world is quite ready to take her at her own 
estimate. When she esteems herself as “the Bride, the 
Lamb’s wife,” outsiders will treat her accordingly. I 
am afraid that there is some reason for the criticisms 
that are being levelled at her. The desire for numbers, 
the love of social position, the worship of money— 
these are the things that are said to be taking the “pep” 
out of the Church’s message. “What you do talks so 
loud that I can’t hear what you say,” is sometimes ap¬ 
plied to the so-called Church of Christ. In these days 
of reconstruction we must give heed to a criticism 
like that; for, if the Church’s message is weakened by 
the Church’s life, she must face the fact and repent in 
dust and ashes if she is to be a blessing to the world. 

Personally, I have never believed that she ever gains 
by installing a revolving door to expedite entrance, nor 
does the oily hinge help matters. I have noticed that 
revolving doors shoot people in, but they also shoot 
them out just as fast. We do well to heed the ancient 
proverb, “Come easy, go easy.” I am convinced that 
the reason that we have so many unspiritual church 
[106] 


Oiling the Hinges of the Church Door 

members is to be found in the ease with which the 
church door opens to receive, not simply applicants, 
but all who can be coaxed and wheedled and bribed 
into giving a reluctant consent that their names shall 
be considered for church membership. I was ac¬ 
quainted a few years ago with a man who is said 
to have applied fourteen times for membership in a 
certain secret society. He finally was received be¬ 
cause, like the unjust judge, the lodge was troubled by 
his continual pleading. But I know a professional 
man, who was solicited to become a member of a cer¬ 
tain church, and when he objected that his life was 
not such as a Christian ought to lead, was told that 
the Church overlooked a great many things. His man¬ 
hood, backed up by his early home training, led him 
to administer a rebuke which, it is to be hoped, that 
pastor will not forget to his dying day, for the prospec¬ 
tive member’s life was a scandal in the community, 
yet he had a good social position and was wealthy. 
Now I grant that this is an extreme case, but it em¬ 
phasises the evil I am trying to point out. The Church 
door ought always to open easily to the repentant sin¬ 
ner who has placed his faith in the Saviour of the 
lost; but it should be locked against all who have no 
desire to turn from their sin, but who apply for mem¬ 
bership in the Church because it will throw the mantle 
of respectability over a life that will not bear investiga¬ 
tion. 

There ought to be the ring of reality in our re¬ 
ligious life. The organisation, which God has ap¬ 
pointed to aid us in giving expression to the deepest 


The Glory of His Robe 

and best within us, should be a mighty power just be¬ 
cause men recognise that its membership has a humble 
trust in the Saviour of sinners, and a real allegiance 
to the Lord who died for them. It is wonderful how 
much people will overlook if they are convinced that 
the offender made an honest effort to do right. And 
it is remarkable how folks look beneath all the extrava¬ 
gances and peculiarities of religious people, and will 
exhibit as a great treasure some word or action which 
manifests honour, honesty, kindliness, justice, self- 
sacrifice Christlikeness. 

It has been my good fortune to have been brought 
into contact with a great many sects who place stress 
upon “the plain dress.” I do not agree with a great 
deal of the teaching which they give respecting the 
Christian's attire, but I cannot forget the remark that 
a rough diamond once made to me. He said: “Mister, 
some of these folks look awful guys the way they dress. 
But, mister, they're good. Yes, they’re good. ” No 
greater compliment could come to any religious body 
than for rough godless men to recognise that its mem¬ 
bers are good. The power of the Church in this 
world inheres in her goodness and that goodness is 
dependent upon the goodness of the individual member. 
Thus it is essential that the door shall be guarded and 
that the Church shall demand of her members whole¬ 
hearted allegiance to her Lord and Master. 


[io8] 


XX 


HOW THE PEW MAY HELP THE PULPIT 

I SUPPOSE that the majority of my readers hardly 
expected the headline to read like that, for they 
have been accustomed to expect the pulpit to aid the 
pew, and have been very apt to voice their dissatisfac¬ 
tion if the sermon was not inspiring and stimulating. 
There are not a few who attend church with about the 
same mental attitude that they attend the opera: “Well, 
we’re here. Let the performance begin.” To them 
the church service is very largely an exhibition of the 
preacher’s power as an expositor of the word of God, 
or an interpreter of current events; and from the time 
that he enters the pulpit until the benediction is pro¬ 
nounced he is on the critical gridiron; and when the 
congregation has dispersed that gridiron is carried 
home and does duty as a bouquet upon the centre of 
the dinner table. You know subjects for discussion 
are rather scarce at Sabbath dinners, and it is easy to 
discuss the minister. To-day we are going to turn the 
tables and discuss the congregation. How may the 
pew help the minister? 

Punctuality in attendance is a virtue that ministers 
much admire. There are some folks that are always 
late. In fact, I remember one clever woman, not a 
minister’s wife either, who was so exasperated one 
[109] 


The Glory of His Robe 

Sabbath morning as she thought of a certain family 
that appeared in church just in time to miss the collec¬ 
tion, and to disturb the minister as he settled down to 
“firstly,” that she said concerning them: “These 
Browns were all born twenty-five minutes late.” Ap¬ 
parently they had never caught up. There are some 
churches that have certain rules governing the entrance 
of worshippers. No one, for example, is permitted to 
walk up the aisle during prayer or reading of the 
Scripture, and in this way there is little disturbance of 
the congregation by late-comers; but we have all at¬ 
tended services which were sadly interrupted by folks 
who might just as well have been on time. There are 
always a few who have a great interest in the mil¬ 
linery parade or the dress show, and they will crane 
their necks to behold what the newcomer is wearing, 
and these inquisitive souls are not all confined to the 
female members of the congregation. Sometimes, too, 
there are people who are charged with purposely com¬ 
ing late to meeting just to show off their new clothes. 
I have lived in communities where newly-married 
couples, together with their attendants, came to church 
together one or perhaps two Sabbaths after the cere¬ 
mony, and you might be sure that they would be late, 
and that the whole congregation, from the youngest 
even to the eldest, would forget all about the glories of 
the New Jerusalem to contemplate the joys of the 
newly-weds and the magnificence of their attire. The 
poor preacher was a poorer preacher than ever on such 
an occasion, for he could not hold the attention of his 
hearers in competition with a dress parade and an ex- 
[iio] 


How the Pew May Help the Pulpit 

«4 

hibition of shy pride in each other on the part of bride 
and bridegroom. 

Then it would help the minister a great deal if 
strangers who are being conducted to a pew by a cour¬ 
teous and dignified usher would accompany the usher 
all the way, and not drop into a pew near the door, 
allowing the master of ceremonies to march to the 
head of the aisle utterly unconscious that he has no 
following, and greatly to the amusement of some of the 
younger folk. The minister often has a sense of hu¬ 
mour, and he feels that such occurrences are hardly in 
keeping with the expectation of the people that he shall 
be a model of grave and reverent deportment in the 
House of God. 

The seat-end hog is a great trial to the man on the 
platform. There are always a few folks who have a 
love for the end seat. In fact, they seem to think that 
the Almighty made them to occupy just that spot. The 
church may be crowded, the ushers troubled to find ac¬ 
commodation, but the seat-end hog never moves. If 
any one gets into the pew that he occupies he does it 
by climbing over a pair of number ten boots, stumbling 
past a cotton umbrella and a pair of knees that have 
all sorts of angles upon them. But the seat-end hog 
only grunts; yet his grunt has not the welcome note 
in it. 

Once in a while I have noticed men who drop into 
their seat with a sort of resigned look such as a fellow 
wears when he goes to get a tooth drawn. There is no 
joy in the countenance—just an expression which says, 
“I have to be here at least once every Sunday. Don’t 

[ml 


The Glory of His Robe 

you pity me ?” And then there are others, who screw 
up their eyes until there is no expression in them, and, 
if the preacher is looking for inspiration from them, 
he will be much disappointed, for there is no more ex¬ 
pression there than in a graven image. Now, how 
would you like to be the man in the pulpit under such 
circumstances? I fancy that Dr. Poundtext has a 
hard time to get up any enthusiasm when he gazes 
upon that face. Yet there it is, generally in the place 
where he cannot miss it, and many a good sermon is 
spoiled because some miserable sinner fails to show 
that he has any intelligence in his facial organisation. 
But what an inspiration a glowing, expressive coun¬ 
tenance is! Many a preacher owes his pulpit triumphs 
to one face in the audience. 

When I was a lad there were a great many different 
brands of Methodists. Some of them were popularly 
known as the “shouting Methodists.” One dear old 
Methodist brother explained to me once that the more 
“respectable” a Methodist became the less he shouted; 
and I have noticed myself that the more the congrega¬ 
tion shouted the greater was the energy that the 
preacher put into the sermon. In fact, he enjoyed him¬ 
self just in proportion to the vocal appreciation shown 
by his hearers. I wonder if it would not hearten the 
minister if some one should break loose, and, setting 
aside that conventionalism that is the curse of the 
churches, should just give a good old-time shout of 
“Praise the Lord!” when the preacher has said some¬ 
thing unusually inspiring? Of course, some folks 
might be shocked, but they never count for much re- 
[lI2] 


How the Pew May Help the Pulpit 

ligiously anyhow. Folks that stress correctness of 
behaviour in church usually have a greater apprecia¬ 
tion of that than they have of spirituality. 

Then would it not help the pulpit if once in a while 
when the minister preached a comforting, instructive, 
or inspiring sermon, you should drop him a little note 
through the mail just to let him know that he has 
helped you? There are, I fancy, quite a few preach¬ 
ers, who would not seek a change of pastorate if they 
were certain that their people appreciated their labours. 
It is said that a Scotchman never tells his wife that he 
loves her until she is dying—and then he does not tell 
it. Of course it was an enemy that said that. But it 
can be said that there are many hearers who never have 
spoken an appreciative word to their minister. He has 
to take a great deal for granted. 

Dr. Whyte, of Free St. George’s, Edinburgh, tells 
that when he was a young preacher, he had occasion 
to call one day upon an old lawyer, a man high in the 
councils of his church. After business was concluded, 
the old man glared at the young minister from under 
his bushy eyebrows and said: “Hae ye ony word for a 
puir sinner?’’ The young preacher was so taken by 
surprise that he was speechless for the moment, but 
the voice repeated insistently, “Hae ye ony word for a 
puir sinner ?” All the young preacher could say under 
the circumstances was, “He delighteth in mercy.” 
Then he got out of that office as soon as he could, 
mourning over the fact that he had done his Master’s 
work so poorly. Next morning he received a note 
from the old lawyer which read somewhat as follows: 


The Glory of His Robe 

“My Dear Minister,—Yesterday when I spoke to you 
I was almost in despair. The hounds of hell were upon 
my track, the sins of my youth had come up against 
me, and my spirit was overwhelmed. But your words, 
'He delighteth in mercy/ were as cold waters to a 
thirsty traveller. Always preach it! Always preach 
it! God bless your Do you wonder that that young 
preacher’s heart sang for joy for many a day after¬ 
wards? And do you want to know how to help your 
minister? Just tell him when he helps you. 

Pray for him also. You do not need to advertise it, 
but mention him to the Master in the secret chamber. 
"More things are wrought by prayer than this world 
dreams of.” There is an atmosphere created by prayer 
that is recognised at once by the spiritually minded 
soul. And, when a minister comes into that atmos¬ 
phere, he knows that others besides himself are anxious 
that his message shall not fail to help men and to 
glorify the Master. 


[i 14] 


XXI 


WHY DO FOLKS DEMAND SHORT SERMONS? 

I T cannot be denied that there is a demand for short 
sermons. It is to be heard upon every hand, and 
many are the criticisms that the long-winded preacher 
is subjected to. A good deal of fun is made at his 
expense. Just the other day I read of a preacher, who 
suddenly stopped reading his manuscript and made the 
following startling statement: “My friends, we have in 
our house a young dog which has a fondness for 
chewing manuscript. He has been operating upon this 
sermon, and so I am compelled to stop here.” After 
the service was over, a lady sought out the minister 
and asked him if he had more than one dog of that 
breed; for, said she, “I should like to buy him and 
present him to our pastor.” Of course, the story is 
funny, and there is no doubt that the lady is bright, 
but the anecdote belongs to the same class as “Thirdly 
has just blown out of the window” and “The mice have 
eaten up fourthly.” However, the story gives me an 
opportunity of discussing the question of short ser¬ 
mons. 

It may be said first of all that the sermon to-day is 
a great deal shorter than it was in the days of our 
grandfathers. The English seem to love an elaborate 
service. The Scotch are sermon tasters. To them the 

[i*5] 


The Glory of His Robe 

sermon is the piece de resistance, the one item in the 
service to which all others are subordinate. No one 
can listen like a Scot, and no one can criticise like him 
either. The sermon furnishes him food for thought 
during all the week, and in this respect he differs from 
those who regard the sermon simply as an incident in 
the service of worship. Fifty years ago it was ex¬ 
pected that the minister would preach at least an hour, 
while the exposition in many cases took up another 
hour. Since that day time has become more precious, 
religious gatherings have multiplied, no longer is the 
morning service the only religious meeting on the 
Sabbath, and, as a consequence, it is not expected that 
the minister will attempt to double the instruction that 
was given in the good old days when the voice of the 
preacher was the only voice that claimed public atten¬ 
tion from one week’s end to the other. We must also 
remember that the form of the service has changed 
also. The coming of the organ and the choir has had 
the effect of lengthening what the Scotch call “the pre¬ 
liminaries,” and, if the service is to be kept within 
reasonable limits, the sermon must be shortened. 

Just now the sermon is suffering from the encroach¬ 
ments of music, announcements, and various embel¬ 
lishments of what would otherwise be a very bare serv¬ 
ice. One is often inclined to ask why we should always 
sing four hymns, and why these should generally be the 
longest in the hymnary; why the choir programme 
should be so lavish and the sermon crowded into a 
corner; why announcements for every conceivable pur¬ 
pose are given from the pulpit, when, in many cases, 

r 1 16] 


Why Do Folks Demand Short Sermons? 

the objects seem to have no relation whatever to the 
work of the Church or of the cause of Christ in gen¬ 
eral. The pulpit announcement evil has reacted upon 
the sermon. A good many people are mentally tired 
long before the sermon is reached, just because they 
have had to listen to a list of announcements that would 
weary an angel. 

Personally, I do not believe that the average man is 
tired of the sermon. The people love good preaching. 
They flock to hear it. They are ready to stand during 
the delivery of long sermons that have a great message. 
They will come Sabbath after Sabbath to hear the 
man who proclaims his message with the authority of 
a prophet. The sermon which has compelling power 
is never criticised on the ground of its length. The 
professional utterance, however, comes in for much 
censure, and is regarded generally as an evil which had 
better be got rid of as soon as possible. Professional¬ 
ism kills any pulpit deliverance, and professionalism 
is the secret of the clamour for the short sermon. 

Some one will at once charge me of being an old- 
fashioned Presbyterian, who loves a very long sermon. 
Well, I am not, and I do not think that it is neces¬ 
sary to have a long sermon every Sunday. But I do 
not think that it is fair to the preacher for every man 
in the congregation to pull out his watch when the text 
is announced as if to say, “Old man, you have 20 
minutes to reach the Amen corner. Go to it and we’ll 
time you.” And then, if the minister fails to make 
the goal on time, these same men will draw out their 
watches, snap down the case and call the preacher’s at- 

[117] 


The Glory of His Robe 

tention to the fact that he is not in the 20-minute class. 
There are some preachers who can, on some texts, 
give a glorious and inspiring message in 20 minutes. 
On some other texts they would just be getting nicely 
started when the alarm bell would be rung. And there 
are hearers who are just becoming interested when the 
preacher has reached the 20-minute post. For him to 
stop then would be most unsatisfactory to some of his 
audience at least. The man in the pulpit ought to have 
sufficient time allowed him to enable him to deliver his 
message. 

I have heard few good stump speakers. Such men in 
a political campaign are in great demand. They are 
used generally to work up enthusiasm. But the speaker 
whose utterances are heralded all over the country is 
allowed abundance of time to make a weighty and in¬ 
forming and inspiring deliverance. If you want to 
hear something worth while you must be ready to watch 
the old warhorse warming up to his work as he passes 
the 20-minute post. You know that the very best 
things will come after that. And if you are to get the 
best out of your minister, do not be too particular 
about the condition of the clock. The minister will do 
better work the less the clock bulks in the minds of 
the congregation. And there are times when even the 
most critical is ready to sit a little longer than usual. 
I have known some secret society men, who seldom at¬ 
tended church on the ground that the preacher was 
prosy, to listen with the greatest interest to a sermon 
which had special reference to the order to which they 
belonged. The length of the sermon did not seem to 

[n8] 


Why Do Folks Demand Short Sermons? 

trouble them that day. In fact, they would have con¬ 
sidered a short address as out of keeping with the dig¬ 
nity of the occasion. 

The demand for short sermons is first and foremost 
a demand for preaching that grips the hearer. There 
are sermons which do not extend over more than 
twenty minutes that are very long indeed, for they have 
no message and no enthusiasm. There are sermons 
that run an hour or an hour and a quarter that we 
regard as short, because we were receiving something 
that met the need of mind and heart. The personal 
equation is most important. One Sabbath not long ago 
I sat in a church in which a large number of business 
and professional men were worshippers. The preacher 
lays no claim to oratorical power, nor is he a great 
scholar. He is simply a good, earnest Christian 
worker, rather daunted by the fact that he had to ad¬ 
dress an audience in such a large building. But he 
had a message. That message came from a burning 
heart. The audience felt that this was not a mere pro¬ 
fessional utterance. The professional men began to 
lean forward, the business men sat up, the whole con¬ 
gregation was intensely interested. The manhood of 
the preacher commanded their attention. The man 
behind the message challenged their notice. His sin¬ 
cerity, enthusiasm and faith shone through his words, 
and when half-past twelve came no one grumbled, for 
hearts had been helped. But I have attended services 
where the audience has been dismissed at twelve 
o’clock sharp, when I felt that we might in mercy have 
been dismissed twenty minutes sooner. 


The Glory of His Robe 

Preaching is coming into its own again. The man 
who has a message has a great opportunity now. The 
ecclesiastic will have a trying time, but the man with 
“the burden of the Lord upon him” will have a won¬ 
derful hearing. Men are interested in that which af¬ 
fects human life and destiny. As long as sin and suf¬ 
fering, sorrow and trial, temptation and difficulty, 
death and its problems have to be faced, the preacher, 
who has a helpful, sympathetic, loving message will be 
welcomed, and men will sit at his feet rejoicing that 
God has appointed this special office to bring glad 
tidings to burdened hearts. 


XXII 


PUTTING THE EMPHASIS IN THE RIGHT PLACE 
SMALL boy went to a tailor to be measured for 



n a suit. After the tape had been used upon the 
laddie, the tailor asked him if he wished the shoulders 
padded. “No,” said the little chap, “but I do want the u 
seat padded.” That boy felt that the tailor was in¬ 
clined to put emphasis in the wrong place. He had 
learned by experience just where padding is likely to 
be of most use, and he wanted it put where it would do 
most good. 

We are all very apt to put the emphasis in the 
wrong place. I would not introduce a jarring note into 
our holiday celebrations, but I have often felt that we 
are training our children to regard Christmas as a time 
for getting rather than for giving. Of course we have 
been trying to counteract that idea through our White 
Gift Sabbath and other celebrations in the Sunday 
School; but how many parents are there, who really 
try to instil into the minds of their little children the 
idea that there is greater joy to be received out of giv¬ 
ing than from receiving? I am led to meditate thus 
because of a very touching incident that came to my 
notice the day after Christmas. 

A father, with whom I am acquainted, noticed that 
on Christmas Eve his little boy and girl hung up their 



The Glory of His Robe 

stockings at the fireplace, but they were not content 
with that. The little lad said: “We ought to leave 
something nice for Santa to eat. He’ll be cold and 
hungry after his long drive.” The little girl sagely 
agreed, and the two carefully prepared a lunch for 
Santa Claus. The father saw an opportunity to im¬ 
press two little souls. He sat down at his typewriter, 
and wrote a letter from Santa Claus, telling the chil¬ 
dren that he had travelled long distances, in very cold 
and stormy weather, to bring gifts to boys and girls 
all over the world on Christmas Eve. He had found 
great happiness in doing this work for the children. 
He did not want any better job. It was always full 
of joy. But said he, “I do not remember ever having 
a little boy and girl thinking of me, and fixing a nice 
lunch for me as you did.” And then there was added 
this word: “Always remember, children, that while you 
get great happiness out of the gifts that other people 
give you, the sweetest joy comes from being kind to 
others.” That father told me that the little chap car¬ 
ried the letter all Christmas Day, every little while 
wanting his mother to read just what Santa said. He 
will never forget that lesson. Neither will the little 
girl. The day may come when they will regard Santa 
as a fictitious character, but that father made use of 
the vivid imagination of childhood to drive home the 
lesson that “it is more blessed to give than to receive.” 
That is putting the emphasis in the right place. 

For a long time before the war we were inclined to 
estimate a man’s occupation by the amount of money 
that he could get out of it. I have heard young chaps 
[122] 


Putting the Emphasis in the Right Place 

discussing very earnestly the relative advantages of¬ 
fered by certain occupations and professions. They 
generally agreed that the teaching profession and the 
ministry and medicine are “punk” because as a rule 
they do not offer large monetary returns. We are all 
aware, however, that there are no three professions 
that offer greater returns in real soul-satisfaction than 
these. There are no professions that do more for the 
physical, moral and spiritual welfare of mankind than 
they. And there are no three where more of the spirit 
of service and self-sacrifice is shown than in them. 
Many of us owe our first vision of duty and manhood 
to an earnest, high-minded teacher. All of us can 
testify to the value of school discipline in the making 
of character. We all have felt the moral value of a 
strong, manly minister in a community. I once heard 
a man say: “The devil laughs every time he sees a nice, 
dinky, little minister; but he shakes in his shoes when 
he meets a man.” I felt that just about expresses 
what most of us feel. And the physicians! How 
much we owe to them! We city folks do not always 
realise just what benefactors they are to humanity, 
but our country cousins do. The doctor often risks 
his own health and life in the service of others. If 
I had a whole page in which to sing the praises of the 
doctor I could fill it all. Instead I am going to tell a 
story. 

Somewhere in the mountain land of the South there 
was a doctor, a good and pious man—a friend and 
benefactor to all. On his old horse, with saddle-bags 
behind him, he climbed the steep mountain paths by 


The Glory of His Robe 

day and by night, ministering to those who needed 
him. His pay was small, his liberality large. By and 
by, after a long life of service, he died, and the moun¬ 
taineers came to bury him. Tenderly they laid the old 
doctor’s remains in a coffin, which they had themselves 
constructed; and on the mountain side, under the 
shadow of the overhanging peak, they dug a grave 
and put him away. At the head of the grave they set 
up a cross of wood, but this did not seem to satisfy 
them. There ought to be some writing upon it, but, 
alas! not a man of them could write. One old fellow 
with a little more ingenuity than the rest ran down to 
the nearby village, and came back with the sign that 
was over the old doctor’s office door. He nailed it to 
the wooden cross over the grave, and this is the way it 
read: “Dr. Goodfellow—Office Upstairs.” Maybe the 
thing was not so bad after all, and meant that in a 
better land—upstairs—the old doctor could still be 
found. In that case the emphasis was put in the right 
place, for a Christian doctor will not fail of his re¬ 
ward. But there are some men, well known in every 
community, over whose remains we should hesitate to 
place the sign, “Office Upstairs.” 

And this leads me to the serious part of my medita¬ 
tion. Should we not lay the emphasis upon the things 
that are spiritual? I have heard a good deal concern¬ 
ing other worldliness. There are a good many folks 
that are ready to sneer at the “old-time religion.” 
What they sneer at is not the old-time religion but a 
caricature of it. The old-time religion made charac¬ 
ter. If you recall the days of your youth you will find 

[124] 


Putting the Emphasis in the Right Place 

that the sweetest, strongest, manliest, public-spirited 
souls were the men who loved to sing about having a 
title clear to mansions in the skies. I am ready to ad¬ 
mit that in their religious vocabulary, there were many 
expressions that we have discarded as being unworthy 
of men made in the Divine image and unworthy of the 
work which God has given us to do in the world. But 
how these old men did stand for righteousness! Our 
love of one form of justice—that between nations—is 
an inheritance from the men who were journeying with 
their faces set Zionward. To-day we are talking about 
salvation by character. They spoke of character 
through salvation. It appears to me that that is the 
scriptural way of putting it. Salvation through char¬ 
acter is a disappointing business. We never are as 
good as we feel we ought to be. Sin breaks out at 
unexpected places. Where we thought we were strong 
we find that we are weak. To attain salvation by our 
goodness is like looking for a pot of gold at the foot 
of the rainbow. 

But character is attained through salvation. If a 
man have a definite experience of God—I do not care 
what you call it, whether conversion or regeneration, 
or swearing allegiance to Christ, or putting yourself 
into Christ’s hands, there does come new power into 
the life. The man who was weak finds that he has 
power over his temptations. He becomes a new man. 
His tastes are different. His character is changed 
mightily. He is a new creature, for character comes 
through salvation. Let us put the emphasis in the 
right place. 


[125] 


XXIII 


HOW GOD COMFORTS 


HAT title fascinates me. It ought to appeal to 



souls that are bruised and bleeding. It is sug¬ 


gestive of coddling, and cuddling, and petting, and 
humouring, and pampering, and caressing. I wonder 
if that is God’s method of comforting His people. I 
think of that wonderful statement in Isaiah’s prophecy, 
“As one whom his mother comforteth so will I comfort 
you,” and I fancy that I have a proof-passage in favour 
of the “coddling and cuddling” method; but memory 
gets busy, and I recall the fact that all of a mother’s 
comfort is not along those lines. I remember mustard 
plasters, and sharp needles, and dental forceps, but in 
the end they were instruments of comfort. And so I 
am certain that, while there are times when God, 
like a mother, gathers His heartbroken child into His 
tender arms and whispers assurances of His love and 
help, there are other times when His method of com¬ 
fort is startling, and painful, and gives rise to ques¬ 
tioning regarding His wisdom and kindness. 

Comfort is a very delicate task. You cannot use the 
same method in all cases. It may do for a mother to 
kiss the dirty little knee of the wee laddie that has 
fallen down and hurt himself. The assurance of 
mother’s sympathy may make everything all right in a 
very few minutes. But when the same little lad is 


How God Comforts 

screaming with pain because of pneumonia, she runs 
for the mustard box and the flour, for the counter-irri¬ 
tant is the only thing that will avail at a time like that. 
The wee laddie does not like mustard-plasters any bet¬ 
ter than his elders, but the sting of the mustard is a 
mighty good thing. It relieves engorged cells. The 
blood rushes to a new centre of disturbance away from 
the old. Nature resumes her normal course, and so 
cure comes. 

God comforts sometimes by means of the mustard¬ 
sting. Have you not seen it over and over again? 
Perhaps you have felt the healing of the counter-irri¬ 
tant. There are souls that are so crushed by their sor¬ 
row that they are apt to give themselves up to the 
luxury of grief and to forget everything else, when 
there comes upon their consciousness, like the sting of 
the mustard, the cry of the little child, the call of an im¬ 
portant task, the demands of others upon them, and, 
in the very effort to do their duty, they get comfort. 
Many a soul has reason to bless God that his sense of 
duty simply would not permit him to sit down and pity 
himself. Work is never so great a blessing as in the 
hour when we are ready to let our troubles overwhelm 
us. It helps us to forget our grief. In other words it 
provides another interest. 

The needle or the knife is sometimes used in com¬ 
forting. Pus often gathers and has to be removed 
before there can be relief. We remember how mother 
sterilises the needle and how she thrusts it deep into 
the abscess. We almost feel the pain of it yet. But 
the relief! It is worth all the pain. And then the trips 
[127] 


The Glory of His Robe 

to the dentist. I used to think when I was a little chap 
that it was too bad to pay him for making me howl 
like an Indian. Mother knew, when the gum was in¬ 
flamed and the cheek swollen, that heroic treatment 
was needed, and so, in spite of tears and pleadings, off 
I went to the man with the forceps. And does not 
God sometimes take away the thing that threatened 
spiritual health? How He does take the pride out of 
us and makes us fit to live with! And doesn’t He shat¬ 
ter our sinful ambitions in spite of our outcries, and 
leads us to abandon sinful habit because, through sick¬ 
ness, we learn that a well-regulated life brings real 
health and happiness ? 

I broke my leg some years ago, and after I had been 
in bed a while the limb was placed in a plaster cast 
and I was permitted to hobble about on crutches. One 
day, however, the doctor came in and removed the 
cast. There was a certain amount of comfort in that. 
But he said, “Walk across the room.” I tried to do it, 
but I was afraid of that broken bone, and so I limped 
over, putting the weight upon the uninjured leg. “Put 
all your weight upon the left leg. You can’t break it.” 
“But it hurts.” “Never mind that. You must expect 
it to hurt if you are to get it right again.” And so 
God cures us of our selfishness. It hurts to be gener¬ 
ous and thoughtful and kind. But we have to do as 
the “close” deacon did when he was asked for five 
dollars for the church. A voice seemed to say, “Two 
dollars is enough.” The deacon was fighting his be¬ 
setting sin, and knew that he dare not allow his penu- 
* riousness to master him. He said to the collector: 
[128] 


How God Comforts 

“Here’s ten. Now squirm, old Natur!” That is the 
way to crucify the “old man.” 

But you say, Is all of God’s comforting as unpleas¬ 
ant as that? By no means. The reason that I have 
spoken of such disagreeable things is that I might im¬ 
press the lesson that all of God’s comfort is not made 
up of coddling and anaesthetics. An anaesthetic is 
well enough in its place, but the system always feels its 
harmful effects. Better the throb of pain than the de¬ 
pressing effects of an anaesthetic if the patient can 
stand the pain—so says the physician. But there are 
some very commonplace methods of comfort which we 
often forget are God’s, simply because they are so 
common. 

Sleep is one of these. Did you ever notice that when 
one has been worn out with nursing, and the grief 
consequent upon the death of a loved one very often 
a deep natural sleep follows, and we rise feeling better 
than we had for many a day. I wonder if we are pre¬ 
sumptuous in saying that God comforts us through 
renewing our tired-out bodies and our wearied minds 
by sending “Nature’s sweet restorer, balmy sleep.” 

Sometimes we think that the sun will never shine 
again, our sorrow is so great. But time goes on and 
the sun begins to show himself, and after a while he 
shines as brightly as before. Time is a great healer, 
and it is a blessing that it is so. There are some folks 
who think that a great grief is worthy of deep mourn¬ 
ing, and sad faces, and many tears. They desire to 
manifest their sorrow upon every possible occasion. 
They hang memorial wreaths and coffinplates in the 


The Glory of His Robe 

parlour and keep them there for years to depress, and 
irritate, and sadden every visitor, when God, in His 
mercy, meant that time should heal the heart-wound 
and joy should flood the soul once more. 

The comfort often comes in our endeavour to help 
somebody else. We are very apt to be selfish in our 
griefs. We are apt to forget that there are other 
hearts that are just as sore as ours. It is an amazing 
thing to witness the new colour which our trouble as¬ 
sumes when we go out to minister to others. Our 
own pang is lessened when we endeavour to take the 
pang out of another soul. If you do not believe that 
try it and see. 

I would not forget either that God’s comfort often 
comes through the Scriptures. In our hour of loneli¬ 
ness and sorrow there are passages that are of won¬ 
drous preciousness, and they come to the heart with 
new freshness and beauty and healing. The Psalms of 
David and the Gospel of John are frequently the store¬ 
houses from which many a wounded heart receives 
its healing balm. Best of all, there is a sense of the 
nearness of the Lord given to the sorrowful and bur¬ 
dened soul. And that means sympathy and love and 
wisdom and rest. Did you ever feel the relief 
that comes when you realise that your Lord has not 
deserted you, but stands nearby? I have. Then I 
had “the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise 
for the spirit of heaviness.” Then the desolation of 
my sorrow was over, and the stars began to appear in 
my sky, and soon the quiet and beauty of the night 
filled my very soul. 

[130] 


XXIV 


THE soul’s BATTLEFIELD 

R OBERT LOUIS STEVENSON won widespread 
recognition and something like popularity 
through the story which he called, “The Strange Case 
of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.” The hero of the book is 
a certain Dr. Jekyll, who, at the time he is introduced 
to the reader, has won a name and position for him¬ 
self. He is wealthy, learned, distinguished. But the 
Dr. Jekyll that the world saw—benevolent, brilliant, ir¬ 
reproachable—was not all there was of him. There 
was another being within him—evil, cruel, sensual, al¬ 
ways craving for ugly and debasing pleasures. 

In the course of his scientific researches Dr. Jekyll 
discovered a potion by which he was able to give ex¬ 
pression to the evil personality within him in a sepa¬ 
rate identity. He became literally a changed man, 
shrunken in figure, deformed in build, and of a coun¬ 
tenance so sinister as to fill all who looked upon it with 
aversion and disgust. And to this changed identity, ex¬ 
pressive of the evil principle within him, he gave the 
name of Edward Hyde. For a time he rejoiced in his 
discovery; for, when the craving for sensual pleasures 
was strong upon him, all that he had to do was to 
change himself into Edward Hyde, and he was imme¬ 
diately beyond the recognition of all his friends; and 


The Glory of His Robe 

when he had had his fill of debasing pleasure, all he 
had to do was to resort once more to the potion, and 
he was at once transformed back into Henry Jekyll, 
the great scientist. And so Stevenson gives us the 
picture of one man with two personalities—now Dr. 
Jekyll and now again Mr. Hyde, now delighting in 
reading religious books, and now writing blasphemous 
comments on the borders of the pages, now engaged 
in deeds of philanthropy, and now taking a fiendish 
delight in cruelty and murder. 

Thus the uncanny story runs, but it culminates in an 
awful tragedy. Dr. Jekyll went out into the park one 
day, and, while sitting upon a seat, fell asleep. When 
he awoke he found that he had in his sleep, involun¬ 
tarily, been metamorphosed into Mr. Hyde. It needed 
a potion once to effect the change. Now evil had be¬ 
come dominant, supreme, irresistible. Edward Hyde, 
the beastly and the vile, mastered and destroyed Dr. 
Jekyll, and not all the potions that he could concoct 
could turn him into the gracious, genial gentleman of 
other days. This awful story, however, is true to the 
facts of human experience. It is at his peril that any 
man indulges the lusts and passions and evil desires 
that seethe in his soul. They grow by what they feed 
upon. They become strong, tyrannical, irresistible, 
and, when a man wishes to say good-bye to shameful 
practices and habits and to turn to a life of honour 
and purity and truth, he may find that these evil habits 
have him in their grip. 

The wonder-working potion and the miraculous 
change of face and form are merely part of the story¬ 
teller’s outfit, but the duality of personality is far more 

[132] 


The Soul's Battlefield 

than the imagination of a novelist. It is a fact of 
human experience. We are not single, we are double. 
There is a higher self and a lower self, and these two 
personalities (if so we may designate them) make 
ceaseless war within us. Yet we are not like the man 
in Stevenson’s story. We are not wholly good at one 
time and altogether bad at another. The good and 
the bad are engaged in a ceaseless struggle within our 
souls. 

No doubt Stevenson obtained the foundation of his 
story from the seventh chapter of Romans, for at bot¬ 
tom it is but a dramatic rendering of that wonderful 
statement of St. Paul. The Apostle was well enough 
acquainted with Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. He calls 
them in one place “the old man” and “the new man.” 
In another he speaks of them as “the spirit” and “the 
flesh.” They loom large in his writings because they 
lived in his own soul. He tells us, in that famous 
chapter in Romans, that on looking into himself he 
found two opposing principles at work. He found 
first of all a law of God in which he delighted after the 
inward man; but he found also a different law in his 
members which brought him into subjection to sin. 
The law of God—that was the Dr. Jekyll part of him; 
the law of sin—that was Mr. Hyde. And between 
these two there was incessant war. You can hear the 
clash of the conflict in such a sentence as this: “For 
the good which I would I do not; but the evil which I 
would not that I practise.” So conscious is St. Paul 
of this wild discord, of this ceaseless battle in his soul, 
so shamed was he that Mr. Hyde so often got the bet¬ 
ter of Dr. Jekyll, that flesh so often triumphed over 


The Glory of His Robe 

spirit, that in his agony he cried: “O, wretched man 
that I am! Who shall deliver me out of the body of 
this death?” 

And St. Paul is not alone in his experience. Every 
man is a strange blend of good and evil. Heaven and 
hell are both within his soul. On the one side of him, 
he is made in the image of God, and he hungers for 
the God in whose likeness he is made. He possesses 
wonderful potentialities of goodness. There is a Dr. 
Jekyll side to him. But there is another and very dif¬ 
ferent side to human nature. There is a sort of taint 
in the blood. There is a twist and bias towards evil. 
The evil principle fights against the good. Mr. Hyde 
disputes the sovereignty with Dr. Jekyll. 

Such a condition results in unhappiness. I once 
heard a great American preacher telling of the rest¬ 
lessness of the sea. He said that the great expanse of 
waters is bound to the earth by the law of gravitation; 
but up in the sky there is another great power—the 
moon, tugging away at the heart of the sea, and, drawn 
between the two forces, the sea is always moaning, 
moaning, moaning. So it is with the heart of man. 
The clash between the forces of good and evil means 
unhappiness and misery. No man is as bad as he might 
be. The fact is that a man may plunge into sin, but he 
cannot entirely forget. There is something in the soul 
that makes protest and cries out for higher things. 
Peace is impossible as long as the heart is a divided 
empire. 

An army put under the command of two generals, 
suspicious of one another, and intent upon thwarting 

[134] 


The Soul's Battlefield 

one another, could have only one history and that a his¬ 
tory of humiliation and defeat. The man who is 
swayed by conflicting impulses, and is now on this side 
and now on that, counts for nothing. There may be 
room for the “cross-bench mind” in politics. There is 
absolutely no room for the “cross-bench” character in 
morals. To count on the side of right we must be en¬ 
tirely devoted to the right. We cannot serve two mas¬ 
ters. The fervent amen of the Sabbath worshipper 
carries no conviction to the listener, if he is aware that 
it proceeds from a soul that is avaricious, and mean, 
and dishonest on the other six days of the week. 

Moreover, our God will not share the empire of the 
heart with any other. “Thou shalt love the Lord thy 
God with all thy heart.” There is no use of pleading 
the good life of Dr. Jekyll to offset the evil deeds of 
Mr. Hyde. God demands the whole heart. And so 
every man’s problem is how to get rid of Mr. Hyde. 
Stevenson’s book ended with the triumph of Edward 
Hyde—the evil self. St. Paul’s story sings a Hallelu¬ 
jah Chorus over the triumph of Dr. Jekyll, the good 
self. Jesus Christ delivered him from “the body of 
this death.” And what He did for St. Paul He can do 
for any man. The glory of the gospel is that it brings 
hope to the man who longs for victory in the conflict 
over the lower nature. It tells how Dr. Jekyll may be 
transformed into a mighty force for righteousness be¬ 
cause he has been filled with a single purpose, prompted 
by a great love—love for Him who died for him—and, 
while Mr. Hyde may torment him occasionally, in the 
long run Jekyll is the conqueror. 


XXV 


SHOWING RELIGION AT HOME 

W HEN I was a boy, often on my way to school I 
used to gaze into the window of a furniture 
store in which pictures were displayed. They were not 
of a very high order of merit, for most of them were 
mere chromos; but they held my boyish imagination 
with a compulsion that was most amazing. One of 
these notable works of art was entitled, “The Deacon’s 
Family Prayers.” The old man was represented as 
kneeling on the kitchen floor, with his family gathered 
about him in a similar attitude; but the head of the 
house had wearied his boys by the length of his prayer, 
and they had set the house dog on the cat, and she, 
for refuge, had climbed upon the deacon’s back. The 
next picture set forth the sequel, and I assure you that 
it was very interesting, for, apparently, the deacon 
permitted his angry passions to rise. Since the old 
days when I looked into that window, I have learned 
that the hardest place in which to be religious is at 
home. There you are exposed to the acid test. There 
folks know you best. There you can deceive no one. 
Your very thoughts and motives are laid bare by the 
inmates of your home. It takes considerable courage 
to be religious at your own fireside. 

I wonder if that is why home-religion is dying out? 

[136] 


Showing Religion at Home 

Surely not. We have had, during the past four years, 
the greatest exhibition of heroism that has ever been 
witnessed by any age. Fathers and mothers have will¬ 
ingly parted with their boys, knowing not whether 
wounds or death might await them. The boys were 
ready to fight, and their parents were ready to sacrifice 
for an ideal. There is abundant evidence that our peo¬ 
ple possess plenty of moral courage. That courage, 
wedded to a great and compelling love, would be the 
foundation for a rebirth of home-religion that would 
transform Canada. 

Home is the spot in which religion grows most 
naturally. I remember visiting a world-famous shrine 
a few years ago. Another visitor started a conversa¬ 
tion with me, asking me if I had not been impressed 
with the spiritual atmosphere of the place. Now, I 
happen to be Scotch, and so have inherited some of 
the national characteristics of canniness. I enquired 
of my questioner how long she had been there, and 
was told that her stay had covered ten days. Then I 
asked how she had been impressed by the services and 
teaching given at that religious gathering-place. She 
told me that it was a holy place, that she had been lifted 
far above ordinary affairs, and had been living very 
near heaven. Now, said she, “I am going home, and 
these heavenly feelings will soon be but a memory.” 
The rest of that day my mind would revert to that 
conversation, for I have very decided convictions re¬ 
specting home religion. There is a type of religious 
life that we may rightfully call an exotic. There is an¬ 
other type that is natural, simple, homely. 


The Glory of His Robe 

I have an idea that the Lord is more pleased with a 
homely religious life than with a religion which de¬ 
pends upon outside help to enable it to exist and to be 
impressive. Religion began in the family circle. As 
long as the patriarchal family continued, the head of 
the clan seems to have been its priest. When clan life 
was abolished, the husband became head of the house¬ 
hold; and, in the New Testament we have distinct in¬ 
junctions respecting the duty of the parent towards the 
child. New Testament family religion has as its offi¬ 
ciating priest the father of the family. In these days 
there is a disposition to throw the responsibility of the 
religious teaching of the children upon the mother; and 
I have heard not a few men say with a good-natured 
laugh: “My wife looks after the religious interests of 
the children.” It is a good thing that she does so, 
otherwise the poor bairns would receive no religious 
training whatever. But do you think that a woman’s 
influence alone is sufficient to develop an all-round char¬ 
acter in your children? Are you not aware that it is 
generally agreed that the best results in education are 
achieved by a mixed staff of teachers? Masculine as 
well as feminine influence is needed; and the same two 
elements are necessary in home religion if it is to have 
much influence over your children. 

A man said to me not long ago: “Why do you not 
pile on to the parsons? Prod them up. If the parsons 
had pep, the church would be in better shape.” My 
answer was: “Do you think so ? I fancy that the 
trouble lies deeper. How many men of your acquaint¬ 
ance have family prayer?” “Not very many,” he re- 

[138] 


Showing Religion at Home 

plied. “How many of your friends are known to be 
greatly interested in religion ?” I asked. “Oh, come 
now. You want to get me into a corner. If you are 
to have a church of mighty influence, you must have 
strong, manly religious characters in it as well as sweet, 
true, godly women. The expression of the religious 
life will always be lop-sided as long as the men regard 
the church and religion as the special field for feminine 
activity.” Personally I dislike effeminate men as heart¬ 
ily as I abhor short-haired women; but it is not neces¬ 
sary to be effeminate in order to do your duty to your 
God and your duty towards your family. You will 
find that it will draw upon all your manhood, for your 
ideal will become nobler as the years go by. 

Every home should have its family altar. Is there 
anything that can take the place of that little family 
prayer-circle ? I have been in a good many homes, and 
have witnessed a great many expressions of home- 
religion; but there is one scene that lingers in my 
memory. Father, mother and six children were seated 
for family worship. The father was a business man, 
but one of the most conscientious men regarding family 
prayer that I ever knew. A chapter was read, verse 
about, and then a hymn was sung, one of the children 
playing the accompaniment. Then the father said: 
“This morning I shall pray first, then Mamma, then 
R—, and J—, and then we shall say the Lord’s Prayer 
together. Afterwards our friend will pray, too.” 
And, in the most natural fashion, that father and 
mother prayed for their dear ones, and the children 
prayed, and the stranger within their gates prayed; 


The Glory of His Robe 

and I leave it to you whether or no religion, in the 
minds of these children, did not stand for something, 
especially when I tell you that these parents endeav¬ 
oured to square all questions respecting conduct by the 
great guide-book, the word of God. 

Now, family prayer is not the whole of the family 
religion. Family prayer has to be backed up by a 
godly life. It is wonderful how many things little 
eyes behold. They see when you lose your temper un¬ 
justly. They are aware of insincerity and unkindliness 
and dishonesty and untruthfulness; but there is no one 
that is so generous as a child in giving credit for good 
intentions, even if we fail to achieve our purpose. The 
father, who has won the verdict of goodness from his 
children, does not need any other certificate of char¬ 
acter. And there are many fathers who stand high in 
the estimation of their families as men who honour 
God in their daily life. These are the days of recon¬ 
struction. We are examining foundations. We are en¬ 
deavouring to discover what is the matter with society 
and how it can be remedied. Why should not the read¬ 
ers of this book ponder the question of home-religion 
as it affects their family circle; and, if there is anything 
'wrong, with God’s help get it right? Home-religion 
lies at the very foundation of a clean, honourable, and 
God-honouring national life. If God be not honoured 
in the home a nation soon perishes. 


[140] 


XXVI 


HOW TO OBTAIN GREAT LEADERS 

SCOTCH preacher, being sent to officiate one 



A Sunday in a country parish, was accommodated 
in the manse, in a very diminutive closet, instead of 
the best bedroom appropriated to strangers. “Is this 
the bedroom ?” he said, starting back in amazement. 
“Deed ay, sir, this is the prophets’ chamber.” “It 
maun be for the minor prophets then,” was the quiet 
reply. Nowadays we are told that all the prophets are 
in the minor class, and that the major prophets have 
departed never to return. 

The other day I was talking to a gentleman respect¬ 
ing the death of Sir Wilfrid Laurier, and he called at¬ 
tention to the fact that all the picturesque figures that 
are responsible for Confederation have passed away, 
and that apparently there is no one to take their places. 
Sir William Robertson Nicoll, in a recent number of 
the British Weekly, makes a somewhat similar state¬ 
ment respecting the political leaders of the Motherland. 
A Canadian well acquainted with the Canadian Bar in 
referring to the great losses that the profession has 
sustained during the last three years, mourned over the 
passing of men who captured the popular imagination 
and chained the admiration of the multitude. And a 
preacher told me recently: “The great preachers have 


[141] 


The Glory of His Robe 

died out. The average pastor is the manager of an or¬ 
ganisation rather than a prophet speaking on behalf of 
God.” In all of these cases there is a wail over the 
passing of great picturesque figures. 

When you hear so many voices in agreement, there 
is likely some truth in the statements that are made. 
You may discount it by pointing out that some men 
were accounted great in their own day, who would be 
regarded as very ordinary individuals now. Educa¬ 
tion is more general, the average of ability in some of 
the professions has risen, there is a tendency to idealise 
the great men of the past—but, when you have offered 
your last word in apology for the lack of great pictur¬ 
esque figures in our day, you feel that you have not 
convinced yourself, nor have you convinced others, 
that you have been able to account for the scarcity of 
great outstanding figures in politics, in law, and in the 
Church. 

It seems to me that in nearly every case the men, 
who, in the past, have charmed the popular imagina¬ 
tion and have been regarded almost as supermen, have 
been developed through hardship. The university of 
hard knocks has a great many distinguished graduates. 
You do not grow great men easily. It is said that a 
hero worshipper went to the birthplace of Henry Clay, 
and raved over the mountains, and went into perfect 
ecstasy of delight over the stars that shone upon that 
spot. “No wonder,” he exclaimed, “Clay was great!” 
“Stranger,” said an old timer, “we have always had the 
mountains and the stars, but we don’t seem to raise no 
Henry Clays now.” It is easier for a lad to get an 


How to Obtain Great Leaders 

education now than it was fifty or sixty years ago. 
Parents are able to carry the burden of training their 
sons for the professions, and, in many cases, “they 
begin where the old man left off.” We are very proud 
that they do not have to suffer the hardships endured 
by their sires. Yet is not a very important element in 
training for great and effective leadership the develop¬ 
ment of the whole personality through hardship? The 
tree that stands the gale best grows where the winds 
blow hardest, and the character that is most rugged is 
not developed by coddling, and petting, and shielding 
from the hardships of life. Our wealth may prove to 
be a national catastrophe, if it discourages the develop¬ 
ment of the rugged qualities of soul that find expres¬ 
sion only as they are called out through early trial and 
suffering and difficulty. It may be that the boys, who 
have had to face the hardships entailed by the war, 
may thereby have received the very training which will 
fit them for great and effective leadership in the days 
to come. 

The great men of the past have generally fallen 
under the spell of some other personality that has had 
a mighty influence in moulding their character. Some¬ 
times it has been a father, oftener a mother, occasion¬ 
ally a teacher. One of the regrettable things about our 
modern home life is that the intimacy of the home is 
broken into, and the child very early drifts away from 
its tender, strong and pure guidance and feels the power 
of other influences that counteract the highest and 
best. The rural home has the greatest opportunity in 
the development of a character that will be the basis of 

[143] 


The Glory of His Robe 

a most potent influence in coming days. When the 
humble rural home decays, the country is in a sad way, 
for hitherto it has supplied the bulk of the men who 
have been accounted great amongst us. Back to the 
land has more than an economic basis. The nation 
that dwells in cities soon loses that mysterious and 
tender sentiment which has hitherto been the mightiest 
influence in helping men to be good and to achieve. In 
any case, we are safe in saying that if our homes are 
to supply the kind of leadership that we must have, the 
parents must regard parentage as a vocation rather 
than as an avocation. Parents who realise the joy and 
the glory and the solemnity of the parental office will 
give themselves in companionship and counsel and in¬ 
spiration to their children. That is where too many 
fall down nowadays. 

It is safe also to declare that great leaders usually 
have caught an early glimpse of a mighty purpose 
which they felt that they must achieve. Abraham 
Lincoln’s soul burned within him when he beheld the 
horrors of slavery, and he determined to wipe the traf¬ 
fic out if he could. It was many years before the op¬ 
portunity came and the task was accomplished. Many 
a great preacher has seen the vision in his boyhood 
days. Many a famous missionary has had the mis¬ 
sionary purpose born in his soul long before anybody 
else thought that the laddie was dreaming dreams re¬ 
specting sacrifices for the sake of the dwellers in dark¬ 
ness. You often smile at a lad’s idea of what he would 
like to be; but have you ever noticed that, when an 
unselfish, a moral, a religious purpose fills the boy’s 

[144] 


How to Obtain Great Leaders 

horizon, if the influences for good that have produced 
such a vision be continuous, one day the laddie reaches 
his goal? Conviction in respect of duty is a mighty 
element in the making of a great leader. 

But you cannot obtain great leadership where the 
sense of God is not very real and potent. The reli¬ 
gious sanction gives driving power to purpose. The 
man who feels that he is doing what God wants him 
to do, the man who feels that he has God behind him 
backing him up in his efforts, if he possess any of the 
qualities of leadership, will sway others by the impact 
of his moral earnestness. A while ago, I read that 
remarkable book, “Fear God and Take Your Own 
Part,” by Colonel Roosevelt. As I read it, I felt that 
it was an unconscious disclosure of the secret of his 
wonderful grip upon the confidence of his fellow- 
citizens, and upon the world at large. The ex-Presi- 
dent was a man in whose life God meant much. The 
righteousness of national and international dealings is 
the theme of this book published in the early days of 
the war. He speaks like an ancient prophet: “Right¬ 
eousness is the end, and peace a means to the end, and 
sometimes it is not peace but war which is the proper 
means to achieve the end. Righteousness should breed 
valour and strength. When it does breed them it is 
triumphant; and when it is triumphant, it necessarily 
brings peace. But peace does not necessarily bring 
righteousness.” 

If our leaders in the days to come are to be truly 
great, we must grow them in the home. We must lay 
ourselves out in the most unselfish and helpful fashion 

[145] 


The Glory of His Robe 

for our children. We must not allow business or 
pleasure to tempt us to rob them of what we owe as 
parents. We must never forget that the Christian 
home is the most potent instrument in the training of 
good citizens and the development of the qualities that 
make for leadership. The child who is early im¬ 
pressed with a sense of the righteousness of God will 
have a high ethical standard, and if at the same time 
he learns of the love of the Father, he will have broad 
sympathies, and these qualities give some guarantee 
of a leadership that will be helpful, even if it never 
reaches the point of greatness. 


[146] 


XXVII 


THE SHADOWS WHICH WE CAST 

I N conversation with a man a little while ago, he 
told me that he never went to church. As he 
seemed to be very well satisfied with himself, and was 
inclined to criticise parsons and churches, I suggested 
to him that church-going is one of the means which 
we possess of informing our neighbours that we take 
a deep interest in religion, and that, in the neighbour¬ 
hood in which he lived, he was likely set down as an 
irreligious man because he was not seen on his way to 
service upon the Lord’s Day. I endeavoured to im¬ 
press upon him that every life exerted an involuntary 
influence, and, while his habit of spending his Sundays 
at home might be satisfying to himself, and while he 
might read his Bible and good books on the Sabbath, 
his neighbours could not be expected to know how he 
spent his Sunday. They did know that he was not a 
church-goer, and, as a consequence, he was reckoned 
by them as being opposed to Christianity. Then he 
told me that he did not care what his neighbours think. 
I have noticed that when a man gets cornered in an 
argument he generally springs some such statement as 
that. Well, in many cases, a fellow ought to care what 
his neighbours think. I do not believe that we should 
be like the man in yEsop’s famous fable who, in trying 

[147] 


The Glory of His Robe 

to please everybody, pleased nobody, and lost a donkey 
into the bargain; but I am convinced that, when my 
actions are likely to be misconstrued and I regarded 
as a friend of the enemy, I should take special pains 
to see to it that I make it clear just where I stand in 
respect to my allegiance to Jesus Christ. 

Some time ago I read a story concerning a little lad 
who had lost his shadow. He did hate to have the old 
thing chasing him, he said, and so in some mysterious 
fashion the shadow departed, but in a few days he was 
very miserable for he was regarded as peculiar. Every 
other child had a shadow but himself, and he longed 
to be like his playmates. At length the shadow was 
restored to him and he was happy once more. How¬ 
ever that little chap got rid of his shadow I know not, 
but I do know that none of my readers can divest 
himself of his, because I regard the shadow as a symbol 
of the involuntary influence which a man exerts upon 
other lives. Life and influence are inseparably con¬ 
nected. Spirit influences spirit, sometimes voluntarily, 
very often involuntarily. Sometimes I think that in¬ 
voluntary influence is the more important. 

The strength and character of our involuntary in¬ 
fluence is the truest index of the real quality of our 
lives. I sat one day in a great congregation, and a 
gentleman came in. His face was that of a man whom 
you instinctively trust. He sat down in a pew, and, 
in a few moments, a little lad perhaps four years of 
age slipped out of the seat which his mother occupied 
and climbed up beside the stranger, and a little girl 
from another pew was soon seated on the other side, 
[i 4 8] 


The Shadows Which We Cast 

and the fatherly man had an arm around each. When 
the service closed the gentleman was asked whose chil¬ 
dren they were. He replied, “I do not know. But 
I love children and somehow the kiddies find it out.” 
Of course they do, and they find out that you do not 
love children without your having to utter a word. 

Involuntary influence is the natural outcome of 
character. It is one of the things that we cannot put 
on. Have you ever noticed that some polished indi¬ 
vidual is disapproved by your wife, while you think 
that the said person is just fine. You question the little 
woman why she does not like the man, and very often 
she has nothing to say except that she is sure that he 
is not a good man. Then you depart muttering that 
“women are funny anyhow.” But one day you dis¬ 
cover that your wife is right, and then you begin to 
wonder how she ever detected the real character of the 
person who has just revealed his infamy. Likely it is 
due to the fact that her intuitions being much finer 
than yours, she discovered the “shadow” much more 
quickly than you. Where a woman’s affections are 
not engaged, she is a much better judge of moral up¬ 
rightness than any man. When her affections are en¬ 
gaged she is very apt to distrust her intuitions. 

The religious hypocrite is often discovered by 
reason of the shadow he casts. He may clothe him¬ 
self in the garments of religion, and the accents of 
worship may fall from his lips, but the shadow reveals 
his character. As some one well put it: “What you 
do talks so loud that I can’t hear what you say.” The 
shadow cast by the hypocrite is so decided in its 


The Glory of His Robe 

character that we are ready to discount all his utter¬ 
ances, be they ever so true. And yet there are a good 
many folks who judge a man by the oiliness of his 
speech and the religiosity of his verbiage. They can¬ 
not understand why other folks do not trust such good 
men. I never heard any one who could talk more 
piously than the itinerant vendors of family bibles, who 
used to turn up periodically in my younger days. And 
I never knew anybody whom the mistress of the manse 
was less delighted to see. My mother knew that all 
the pious wordiness was just a bid for cheap entertain¬ 
ment; for these knights of the grip considered that, 
since they were selling bibles, they were allied to the 
ministry and were entitled to enter any manse and re¬ 
main there until their work for the Lord, and inci¬ 
dentally for their own profit, was ended in the com¬ 
munity. And we children used to “size up” the 
visitors to our home by the character of their religious 
vocabulary. You may be sure that we could tell an 
agent for family bibles every time. 

But is it not a wonderful experience to meet a man 
whose shadow nerves you to great fidelity, honesty, real 
Christlikeness ? There are such men in the world. 
There are such men in your own circle of acquaint¬ 
ances. Often they are not very talkative, but watch 
the shadow. It tells the life-story. A gentleman once 
told me, “I make it my aim in my business life to be 
like Mr. Blank. He is my ideal business man—honest, 
fair, alert.” How that shadow was influencing others! 
Another gentleman referring to the same Mr. Blank, 
declared that he was “a very fine type of character. 

[150] 


The Shadows Which We Cast 


I often ask myself when I am in a difficulty, what 
would Mr. Blank do were he in my place?” 

Now what you and I desire is to acquire the secret 
of being such men as will radiate an influence that will 
tell for good upon our fellow-citizens. We should 
covet that above everything else. What makes the man 
of worth is not his dollars, but his character. And so 
our problem all simmers down to this: How can I at¬ 
tain such a character that even my involuntary influ¬ 
ence shall be a blessing to others? That is a pretty 
large order, is it not ? But other lives have been trans¬ 
formed. Characters have been made over in such a 
fashion that you can scarcely realise that the gracious, 
beautiful personality was once unworthy of the friend¬ 
ship of decent men and women. I knew such a man. 
He had been a drunkard and everything that is bad, 
but one would never have guessed it by a casual meet¬ 
ing with him, for his influence now is pure and helpful. 
If you ask him the secret of the mighty change, he 
will tell you that Christ came into his life. And he 
will tell you further that he could never get along with¬ 
out the daily help which his Saviour gives to him. 
Faith and fellowship have made him a power for good, 
and his fellow-citizens thank God for the man whose 
shadow means so much to the moral strength of their 
city. A shadow like that is worth far more to the 
world than great wealth and high social position. 


XXVIII 


OUR HARD DAYS 


WHILE ago I went into a man’s office. I knew 



r\ him pretty well, and, as I looked into his face, I 
could see that he was suffering. So I said, “You do 
not look very well to-day.” “No,” he replied, “this 
is one of my hard days.” Periodically he had an at¬ 
tack of pain which made life a very burden to him, 
and just then he was experiencing one of his hard 
days. There are some of my readers who know just 
what such hard days mean, and will have some sym¬ 
pathy with the famous preacher who was asked if he 
never doubted his soul’s salvation. “Never,” he said; 
but, being an honest man, he thought a second time and 
amended his statement: “Never—except when the East 
wind is blowing.” Oh, some of us know all about the 
East wind—the dreary, neuralgic, rheumatic, narrow¬ 
searching, depressing East wind. Isn’t it wonderful 
what a little change in the wind does for us ? 

Sometimes we have our hard days when we are 
physically tired. That is what we might expect. Have 
you not read of the Old Testament prophet, who be¬ 
came blue, very blue, so blue that he lay down, under 
a juniper bush and prayed the Lord that he might die? 
Do you remember how the Lord cured the blues that 
time ? A good sleep, strengthening food, another good 


[152] 


Our Hard Days 

sleep, more food, a chance to talk into sympathetic 
cars, assurance of God’s care, and work, blessed work, 
to do—isn’t that the story? And Elijah gathered him¬ 
self up like a man and a hero, and put “the blues” 
amongst the forgotten things of his life. 

Some folks are what they call temperamental. I do 
not know that I ever heard that expression from people 
who had very much to do. As I recall the days of my 
youth, I do remember some individuals who seemed to 
have pretty bad attacks of depression; but, in the Scot¬ 
tish atmosphere in which I lived, these attacks were 
very apt to be regarded as due to the fact that their 
victim had not enough to keep his mind and his hands 
busy. Now, that may not be quite fair to some suffer¬ 
ers from depression; but I fancy that there is so much 
truth in the diagnosis that it would be quite safe to 
treat, say fifty per cent, of the cases, upon that assump¬ 
tion. 

Then there are cases of mental and spiritual reac¬ 
tion. It appears to be a law of the human soul that 
any season of great emotional strain is followed by a 
period of depression. Did you ever hear of “minister’s 
blue Monday?” What do you think it is? Just this— 
the man who was on the mountain top on Sunday is 
away down in the valley, both physically and spiritu¬ 
ally, on Monday. He needs rest, and after rest a spirit¬ 
ual vision. Then he will be all right. 

Some anniversaries are hard days to many of us. 
Do you know I have been thinking of what a person 
said to me a while ago: “I just hate a holiday. I have 
nowhere to go, and nothing to do?” I wonder if we 


The Glory of His Robe 

crowded our sad anniversaries with duties, with loving- 
service for others, they might not be a little easier to 
bear? Is not the anniversary hard largely because we 
allow our minds to dwell too much upon our troubles? 

There are hard days which come upon us unexpect¬ 
edly—days of special temptation, of unusual trial, of 
great physical and mental and spiritual strain. At such 
times we need “the grace that is sufficient” very sorely. 

F. W. Boreham, the Australian religious essayist, 
whose writings are becoming known in America, tells 
that on one occasion during his student days he was 
conducting an anniversary service in a village in Sur¬ 
rey. He was entertained by an old lady, the widow of 
a former minister, and was given the room which she 
usually occupied. In the morning when he pulled up 
the blind and the sun shone into the room, he noticed 
a mark upon the glass of the window. At first he 
thought that it had been made with a fluid of some 
kind; but soon he discovered that it was cut into the 
glass. The inscription read, “This is the day—” At 
breakfast he asked his hostess concerning it, and she 
told him that she had cut it there herself. Her story 
was that, in her younger days, she was a great one to 
worry. She was always afraid of what was going to 
happen to-morrow. Every morning when she woke up 
she felt as though she had the weight of the world 
upon her. One day when she was much upset, she sat 
down to read the Bible. She was perusing the one 
hundred and eighteenth Psalm. At the twenty-fourth 
verse she stopped: “This is the day that the Lord hath 
made; we will rejoice and be glad in it.” She exam- 

[154] 


Our Hard Days 

ined the passage again to discover what particular day 
was referred to, but could not find out. Then it oc¬ 
curred to her that it means any day, every day—this 
day “This is the day that the Lord hath made.” That 
is why the mark was made upon the glass—just to 
remind her each morning as the light flooded her cham¬ 
ber that God made the day. “Somehow,” said the old 
lady, “you do not feel afraid of the day if you feel that 
He made it.” 

That story has helped a good many people, including 
myself. Of course I know that the text is generally 
regarded as having a reference to the Feast of Taber¬ 
nacles; but, as I do not happen to be a Jew and have 
little interest in the Feast of Tabernacles, I find no 
little comfort stealing into my soul as I think of that 
old lady’s interpretation. She may not be strong on 
exegesis, but she certainly possesses spiritual insight, 
and who will not say that spiritual insight outranks 
exegetical skill. So when my hard days come, I like 
to think that the Lord knows all about it, and that 
these days, which I find hard, all come within the 
sweep of His gracious purpose. Then I do not find 
it difficult to believe that “all things work together for 
good to them that love God.” 


[155] 


XXIX 


THE ESSENCE OF PROFANITY 

N O! Iam not writing about “cuss” words, lurid 
and expressive adjectives, capital letters and 
dashes, malign wishes couched in virile and forcible 
language—that is only a little sample of profanity but, 
to some folks, it is the whole thing. In our time the 
meaning of the word has been circumscribed, and its 
ancient significance has almost departed. It had its 
origin in the “fane” or temple. The “profanum” 
was the open ground in front of the sanctuary, land 
trodden by many a foot, soil over which the dogs of the 
city often passed, unhallowed territory as compared 
with the temple behind it. Esau is called in the New 
Testament a “profane person.” I often used to won¬ 
der at the designation, for I have never been able to 
get rid of the feeling that he was a good-natured, im¬ 
pulsive child of the desert, the victim of a shrewd and 
scheming twin brother. If he used expletives regarded 
as profane in those days, we have no record of it. 
Probably he did, but his profanity apparently did not 
consist in the fact that he was an artist in the use of 
weird and vehement expletives, but in the other fact 
that he had no reverence in his soul. His was an open, 
unrestrained nature, unguarded by loving presences, 
across which the commonest passions like hunger ran 

[156] 


The Essence of Profanity 

riot, unawed by any commanding principles. If he 
had lived in my boyhood days he would have sat in 
“the devil’s corner” at the church service. 

The other day a returned chaplain was telling me 
how he used to attend various churches just to see 
how the boys attended church when there was no com¬ 
pulsion in the matter. One day he dropped into a little 
church in the Bramshott area. A good many soldiers 
were present, and he soon discovered the reason. The 
preacher was a man of remarkable power. He was a 
Celt, a Scotsman, a poet by inheritance and a seer by 
nature. His text promised an address that would be far 
from ordinary: “Give not that which is holy unto the 
dogs.” To the Jew, the preacher said, there was some¬ 
thing very striking and picturesque in the saying. It 
recalled a glorious and great temple, the priests sacri¬ 
ficing some spotless lamb, and the dog, the coarse, cruel 
scavenger of the East, creeping up to the temple and 
the priest taking a piece of the pure and spotless offer¬ 
ing and throwing it out to him. Such an act would be 
a scandal in those days. But we in our day have our 
holy things, and we should take heed that we do not 
throw them to the dogs. Most Highlandmen love a 
dog, but this preacher evidently felt that dogs have a 
very definitely circumscribed place in the lives of men. 
He went on to tell about the beauty of the maternal 
instinct. My friend says that the picture that he 
painted was wonderful in its charm, and the boys from 
Canada, thinking of their own mothers, found the tears 
coursing down their cheeks as the preacher depicted the 
tender, holy instinct that makes a good mother what 

[157] 


The Glory of His Robe 

she is. Then, in the scathing tone of scorn, which is 
the peculiar possession of the Gael, he pictured a 
woman, childless by choice, lavishing that holy instinct 
upon a dog which lay in her arms. He says that 
these boys have a great dislike for Pomeranians since 
they heard that sermon. 

I have told this story to suggest that there is a pos¬ 
sibility of giving that which is holy to the dogs, of 
being profane, of pushing reverence out of life. I 
wonder if in these days of mass movements we are 
not in danger of forgetting the sacredness of con¬ 
science? We like to think of our ancestors, who were 
true to the inner monitor that continually urges us to 
seek the right, and when we have found it to do it. 
Sometimes, however, the individual, who is very faith¬ 
ful in obeying the dictates of his conscience, is very 
intolerant of those who do not interpret duty in the 
same terms as he. We must not forget that uniform¬ 
ity does not necessarily bring strength, and that the 
process of moulding all minds upon the same pattern 
may rob some of them of that which is their chief 
glory. If there is anything for which we need to pray 
more it is the power to appreciate another man’s loyalty 
to conscience, even when our own views are decidedly 
opposed to his. If we have no reverence for the con¬ 
science of a good man, we may well ask if we are not 
profane; for is not the grandest sight in the world 
that of a man whose life is one long story of a con¬ 
science void of offence toward God? 

Profanity is an attitude of mind, a temper of the 
soul, a way of looking at life and the things which 

[158] 


The Essence of Profanity 

make up life. The profane man is not simply the blas¬ 
phemous swearer whose oaths make us shudder, but 
many a respectable individual may be classified as de¬ 
void of the spirit of reverence, in other words, a pro¬ 
fane man. There has been in the past a disposition to 
limit the test of the spirit of reverence to the church 
and its ordinances. If a man was outwardly devout 
within the sacred edifice, if he were outwardly serious 
in his relation towards the holy symbols, he obtained 
the reputation of being Christian and pious. Nowa¬ 
days we are learning the lesson that Jesus taught long 
ago when, in that wonderful statement to the woman 
at the well of Sychar, He stripped away the special 
sanctity of places and things. “Neither in this moun¬ 
tain nor yet at Jerusalem shall men worship the Fa¬ 
ther.” He laid the emphasis not on the place but 
upon the spirit of worship. The whole earth was holy 
ground to Him, and men could worship everywhere in 
spirit and in truth. This widening of the spiritual 
makes profanity of mind a much more possible thing. 
The man who can find God only in a sacred building 
is profane according to the mind of Jesus. 

I wonder how the teaching of Jesus applies to the 
man whose soul has been a well trodden way for every 
worldly thought and desire and interest during the 
week. How can this man of the profanum be anything 
else upon the Lord’s Day? He has not recognised God 
in his daily life. Once a week he appears in the place 
of worship with conventional gravity. He takes part 
in the worship of the congregation, and supports finan¬ 
cially the organised work of the church. He obtains a 

[159] 


The Glory of His Robe 

reputation for religiousness—I dare not say piety— 
but six days a week goes upon the principle that “reli¬ 
gion is one thing and business another.” He does not 
apply the principles of the Great Teacher to his deal¬ 
ings with his fellow-men. Such a man may be a mem¬ 
ber of a religious organisation, but I ask is he a reli¬ 
gious man according to the standard of Christ? Is 
he not rather a profane person? Is he ever anything 
else than a profane person? The sanctity of the build¬ 
ing and the sacredness of the ordinances do not change 
the nature of this child of the trodden way. They 
simply set in bold relief the real character of this 
visitor to the temple. 

It is worthy of consideration whether the preacher 
does not often get the credit for being uninteresting 
when the trouble is not in the preacher but in the 
hearer. Long ago Jesus spoke of seed that was 
sown upon the roadway trodden hard by a thousand 
feet, and showed that under such conditions you could 
not expect much of a harvest. If we live in the at¬ 
mosphere of the streets and crowd God out of our lives 
all the week, we need not expect when the church bells 
ring on the Sabbath morning to be able to recognise 
the Divine rule. If we go to service after a week in 
which God has not been in our thoughts, we shall seek 
what shall amuse us or distract us in the worship, not 
anything that will bring us nearer to God and make us 
more certain of His grace and presence. 

The essence of profanity is to live as though God 
did not exist. It is to see nothing of value in life ex¬ 
cept what we can behold or touch or enjoy. It is to 

[160] 


The Essence of Profanity 

disregard the soul's cry for God. It is to ignore the 
unseen and the eternal. By this definition of profanity 
we might discover that many very respectable people 
are profane persons. 


[161] 


XXX 


FORESIGHT AND HINDSIGHT 

DOWN-EAST Yankee was discussing with a 



friend the business of a mutual acquaintance. 
The friend had remarked: “Jim always had a mighty 
lot of foresight. That’s what helped him to get ahead. 
He always saw where a dollar was to be made, and he 
went after that dollar.” “Yaas,” drawled the Yank, 
“Jim has a mighty lot of foresight, but a leetle mite of 
hindsight wouldn’t hurt him none.” I wonder what 
that shrewd old fellow meant. Just listen. “Jim has 
the habit of forgettin’ all the friends he had in the 
day when he was poor. He’s rich now, because he’s 
so foresighted; but Jim is hard, and he’s gettin’ harder. 
I tell you, Bill, that a leetle mite of hindsight would 
sweeten Jim some.” In “The Pilgrim’s Progress,” 
Greatheart, while talking with Christiana’s boys, re¬ 
marks: “You must know that Forgetful Green is the 
most dangerous place in all these parts.” Ah! there 
are some of us who know exactly what Greatheart 
meant. We must possess hindsight as well as fore¬ 
sight if we are to live gratefully, humbly and prayer¬ 


fully. 


When we turn to the Scriptures it is wonderful what 
emphasis is placed upon hindsight. “Thou shalt re¬ 
member that thou wast a bondman in the land of 


[162] 


Foresight and Hindsight 

Egypt, and the Lord thy God delivered thee.” “Thou 
shalt remember all the way that the Lord thy God hath 
led thee these forty years in the wilderness.” “Bless 
the Lord, O my soul, and forget not all His benefits.” 
These passages taken at random give a faint idea of 
the emphasis placed upon the faculty of looking into 
the past and drawing from it inspiration, cheer and 
comfort. Hindsight is a wonderful aid in developing 
gratitude of heart. John Newton, sailor, slave-trader, 
poet and preacher, a marvellous trophy of divine grace, 
after many wild and dissolute years, left the sea and 
entered the ministry. Over his study mantel he placed 
these words, inscribed in bold and compelling type: 
“Thou shalt remember that thou wast a bondman in the 
land of Egypt, and the Lord thy God delivered thee.” 
When he became very old, he met his friend, William 
Jay, of Beth. Newton said that his powers were fail¬ 
ing fast. “My memory is nearly gone,” he said; “but 
I remember two things, that I am a great sinner and 
that Christ is a great Saviour.” 

There are many people who have a very strong 
prejudice against any one speaking freely in public 
concerning the dealings of God with the soul; and I 
have to confess that the spirit of some folks, who seem 
fond of being heard in public assemblies, does not ap¬ 
peal to me. But, after all, it is a fine thing to have 
something worthy of remembrance in respect of the 
divine dealings with us. It is that which keeps the soul 
tender and grateful. “My memory is nearly gone; but 
I can remember two things, that I am a great sinner, 
and that Christ is a great Saviour.” Is not that a 


The Glory of His Robe 

magnificent starting point for any soul who desires to 
call up reasons for gratitude? 

“Forget not all His benefits.” An old homespun 
preacher once said in an abrupt fashion which made 
the words stick in the memory of his congregation: 
“You can’t remember all of ’em; but don’t forget all 
of ’em. Forget not all His benefits.” Thanksgiving 
Day is upon us once more, and some of us will gather 
into churches to voice our thanksgiving to God for 
the abundant harvest and the many other blessings 
which have crowned the year. It would be most un¬ 
fortunate if our day of thanksgiving was celebrated 
upon Forgetful Green; and so I am suggesting some 
reasons why my readers should be specially thankful. 
And we had better not start our meditation by singing 
the hymn with which Dan’l Quorm says one of his 
class leaders used to begin his meetings: 

“ ‘Woe is me! what tongue can tell 
My sad afflicted state! 

Who all my anguish can reveal, 

Or all my woes relate.’ ” 

Dan’l says, moreover, that he was accustomed to 
follow the hymn up with what he called “a bit of a 
prayer.” “But there wasn’t a bit o’ prayer in it from 
beginning to end. It was all a groan about how bad 
we were, and what miserable sinners we were. He 
never thanked God for anything at all, but this—that 
He had not swept us away ‘with the besom of destruc¬ 
tion.’ ” Farewell, then, to sighs and groans, and let us 
remember a few of God’s wondrous benefits. 

[i6 4 ] 


Foresight and Hindsight 

Did you ever thank God* for the Christian home in 
which you were born; for the strong, sturdy, honest 
character of your father, and the gentle, pure spirit of 
your mother? Have you ever thought, with gratitude 
surging in your soul, of the quality of the teachers 
under whom you sat in school or college—the men 
and women who helped to give you the ideals that have 
moulded your life? Do you thank God occasionally 
for your friends and neighbours, who have been so 
true all these years? Do you remember, with some 
stirring of soul, the times when their sympathy and 
interest helped you over a hard place? How bare life 
would be if you had no friends? Do you thank God 
for a considerate employer? And, Mr. Employer, do 
you ever thank God for the workers who serve you 
so faithfully? 

And your children! Your heart does get full as 
you think of them, doesn’t it? You remember the 
first time you held the little helpless babe in your arms, 
and realised that you were a parent. What a strange, 
solemn thrill there was in your soul! But the babe 
has become a man, and you have had all sorts of 
anxieties concerning him; but you would not want to 
lose all the joy the boy brought into your life, would 
you? Perhaps his body lies in Flanders fields, but 
what a proud and loving memory you have of your 
lad! And then you recall the fact that your dear wife 
was sick unto death not long ago; but she is with you 
still, and you feel that life is worth living since she 
is the home-maker. Perhaps you had a touch of rheu¬ 
matism or something more serious last Spring, but 


The Glory of His Robe 

you’re feeling better—at any rate you are here. Isn’t 
that a reason for thanksgiving ? Just recall your 
prayer of a few months ago. Were you not anxious 
to live then? And your life has been spared. Now 
raise your song of praise. 

Ah! you say, it is all very well to talk about the 
things which you have mentioned. What about the 
high cost of living? Let me ask you. Have you a job 
in these hard times ? Then thank God for that. Some 
other fellows haven’t a job. And remember, too, that 
the H.C.L. may be necessary as a discipline for people 
who were becoming too extravagant, and were not 
using their money as a trust from God. 

Let us also be grateful that the Empire holds to¬ 
gether, and that the old ideals of righteousness, jus¬ 
tice and brotherliness are swaying the Anglo-Saxon 
people as never before. Britain and her dominions 
have suffered much, but they have achieved much for 
the good of humanity. Are you not thankful to be a 
subject of such an Empire? I am. 

And “God’s in His heaven.’ , His hand is on the 
helm of the universe. Because of that we are sure 
that “all’s right with the world.” Let us therefore 
raise with cheerful voice our thanksgiving to our Fa¬ 
ther in heaven; “for He is good and His mercy en- 
dureth forever.” 


[ 166] 


XXXI 


MARTHA, THE HOME-MAKER 

I HAVE been interested in Martha of Bethany ever 
since the time when, as a wee laddie, I heard my 
mother take my ministerial father to task for exalting 
Mary to the disparagement of Martha. Her conclud¬ 
ing remark was very effective. The dinner that day 
was unusually good, and father was enjoying it to the 
full. “It's weel for you that I’m no a Mary. If I 
were, my man, it’s little tae eat ye wud hae this Saw- 
bath Day.” That settled father; but, from straggling 
remarks that he sometimes made, I surmise that he did 
not change his good opinion of Mary up to the day of 
his death, although he had no guarantee that she could 
cook. Perhaps he was like that other minister, who, 
when asked whether of the twain he should prefer as 
his wife, very diplomatically replied: “I should like 
Mary on the Sabbath, and Martha the rest of the 
week.” 

Martha has been a great conundrum to the preachers. 
They hardly know what to do with her. They like her 
because she is a good cook; but a goodly number of 
them seem to have an idea that that very fact is a proof 
that she is not very religious. An American author 
makes a declaration concerning that Bethany family, 
which has the merit of being somewhat novel: ‘‘Martha 

[167] 


The Glory of His Robe 

is the ritualistic Episcopalian, proper, orderly, devout, 
reading her prayers out of a book, and worshipping in 
silence her acknowledged Lord. But Mary is inclined 
to be an unconventional Methodist, zealous, impulsive, 
careless of precedent, praying the prayer that springs 
to her lips from an overflowing heart; and expressing 
her gratitude in a most unexpected way.” To complete 
the picture, Lazarus is offered as “the Presbyterian of 
the family, solid, sound, silent, philosophical.” I sus¬ 
pect that a Methodist must have written that. 

St. Teresa, who lived in the sixteenth century, and 
who is called by Dr. Rendel Harris, “the most practical 
and level-headed of the ascetical school of mystics,” 
says: “Martha was a true saint though she did not 
achieve contemplation. What more could one wish 
than, like her, to have Christ often in one’s house, and 
to serve Him, and to sit at His very table ? Had Mar¬ 
tha been rapt like Mary, who would have given the 
Lord to eat?” St. Teresa well knew the women who 
practice the cult of Mary. I think that she must have 
found some of them a little trying at times; and so 
she puts in a word for poor Martha—she is a saint, 
but has not reached a very high pinnacle. 

All this is very interesting, but some of it is very 
far from the real point. In my judgment, Martha 
was a real home-maker. She and her sister Mary, to¬ 
gether with their brother Lazarus, had a home at 
Bethany, a little village near Jerusalem. A very close 
friendship sprang up between Jesus and the family. 
The Homeless One found shelter, welcome, rest, with 
that Bethany family. It was the kind of home which 

[168] 


Martha, the Home-Maker 

you are not afraid to visit without a formal invitation. 
On the occasion which furnishes preachers with ma¬ 
terial for a eulogy of Mary, Jesus went to Bethany 
with an escort of twelve disciples. It was the Feast 
of the Tabernacles, the greatest festival in the Jewish 
calendar, celebrating the deliverance from Egypt. It 
was also the feast of harvest. At that season every 
Jew kept open house for a whole week. It was a point 
of honour with the people that the entertainment 
should be as sumptuous as they could afford. How¬ 
ever, the busy housewife must have felt consternation 
in her soul when she saw the most honoured friend of 
the family, Jesus Christ, walk in at the head of a dozen 
followers. She had her hands full enough without 
them. But she set to work to prepare a repast that 
should be worthy of the occasion and of her Lord. 
No trouble was too great. It certainly was very try¬ 
ing to note that Mary let household duties go hang, 
and to see her settle down to “visit.’’ I think that 
Martha must have been rather tired. She had had a 
very busy week. Nerves will not stand everything. 
Something had to give way; and the thing that broke 
was Martha’s temper. 

When we get to this point we find that the trans¬ 
lators of the King James’ version of the Gospels have 
been rather unfortunate in the impression which they 
give of this good woman. When, in her flurry and 
irritation, she appealed to Jesus to bid Mary take part 
in the preparations for the meal, they represent our 
Lord as saying: “Martha, Martha, thou art anxious 
and troubled about many things; but one thing is 


The Glory of His Robe 

needful; for Mary hath chosen the good part, which 
shall not be taken away from her.” The revisers have 
a marginal reading: “But few things are needful, or 
one.” (Luke 10:42.) Weymouth’s translation says : 
“You are anxious and worried about a multitude of 
things; yet only one thing is really necessary. Mary 
has chosen the good portion and she shall not be de¬ 
prived of it.” That seems to clear up the misconcep¬ 
tions of some folks, who have an idea that the passage 
has a bearing upon personal salvation, and are inclined 
to relegate this busy house-wife to the company of 
those who know nothing of the deeper religious ex¬ 
periences. Does it not thrown light upon the courtesy 
of Jesus? He would not unduly add to Martha’s 
burdens. A very simple meal, composed of a single 
dish is all that is necessary. He would not deprive 
Mary of her pleasure over being in His presence once 
more. She is not neglecting Him by not taking a hand 
in the cooking. Sympathy and fellowship are good 
things. He appreciates them, and would not deprive 
Mary of her gracious ministry. 

Under ordinary circumstances I do not think that 
Martha would have said a single word in condemna¬ 
tion of Mary, but it is rather hard for a woman, who 
has at least thirteen guests at her table, Jesus at their 
head, to be patient when her sister takes no interest in 
household duties. After Jesus had pointed out that 
Mary was performing a real ministry to Him, do you 
fancy that Martha would have thought of asking her 
to serve in the kitchen? I trow not. She went back 
to the kitchen alone, and performed her duty faith- 
[170] 


Martha, the Home-Maker 

fully, although, no doubt, she longed to be in the 
parlour just to listen to the gracious words which fell 
from the Saviour's lips. God bless the self-sacrificing 
Marthas, who, so often, have to forego their own 
pleasure for the sake of others. 

“Jesus loved Martha and her sister and Lazarus.” 
I wonder why Martha's name comes first—practical, 
energetic, house-keeping Martha? Do you not think 
that He knew who made that Bethany home such a 
haven of rest? Do you not think that He saw that 
the home would not be so bright, and sweet, and com¬ 
fortable a place to which even the Lord of Glory 
turned with delight, if big-hearted, capable Martha had 
not been its head? Jesus loved to go there because it 
was a resting place on life's weary road. It was home. 
And does not home mean everything that *is sweet, and 
pure and helpful? God give us more Marthas. 


XXXII 


THE PRODIGAL’S BROTHER 

I AM afraid that any preacher who sets out to 
glorify either the prodigal or his brother has missed 
the trail; for the purpose of our Lord’s parable was 
not to call special attention to them, but to magnify the 
Divine grace and compassion. Right in the fore¬ 
ground of that wondrous word-painting is the figure 
of the eager, longing, compassionate, rejoicing father 
of both boys; and the joy in heaven over one sinner 
who repents is compared to the joy which that father 
experienced when the boy came back. When we have 
grasped that truth clearly we are quite safe in studying 
the character of a boy who never would have been 
mentioned, so some one has said, had not his prodigal 
brother, by his very badness, lifted the whole family 
from obscurity and bestowed upon them a world-wide 
reputation. Of course, the man who made that state¬ 
ment forgot that it was the prodigal’s struggle to get 
right with his father, which brought undying fame to 
his family circle. 

Isn’t it wonderful how the prodigal fills the imag¬ 
ination of the majority of Bible students? In “Robert 
Falconer,” George Macdonald makes the hero read 
the parable to the dying soutar: “There,” cried the 
soutar, triumphantly, “I telled ye sae; O Lord, I am 
[172] 


The Prodigal's Brother 

cornin' hame as fast as I *can; but ma sins are just like 
muckle bauchles upon ma feet, and winna let me. I 
expec' nae ring and nae robe, but I wud fain hae a 
fiddle i' ma grup when the neist prodigal comes hame." 
It was the fiddle and the dancing which gave rise to 
the remarks of the elder brother respecting the ne'er- 
do-weel, that have led to such a discussion of his own 
character for, lo, these many years. My sympathies, 
however, are with the soutar in regard to the kind of 
reception which a repentant prodigal should receive. 

There are many things which can be said on behalf 
of the elder brother. He appears to have been an in¬ 
dustrious fellow. He stayed on the old farm even 
after the younger brother deserted it, taking with him 
every penny he could gather as his patrimony. Now 
that is worth remembering. He seems also to have 
been a hard worker. On the day when his brother 
returned from the far country, he was “in the field"— 
likely on the “lower hundred," so far away that the 
dinner-horn, or the bell on the driving shed, or a few 
shots from the old gun did not draw his attention to 
the fact that something unusual had occurred at home. 
It always struck me, when I was a lad, that it is rather 
peculiar that there is nothing in the story to indicate 
that the elder brother knew anything about the family 
reunion until he approached the house and heard the 
sound of the music and dancing. I have no very satis¬ 
factory explanation of this fact, but it may throw a 
side-light upon his character. He may have been such 
a worker that his men ’were afraid to inform him of 
his brother's arrival, lest they might get no thanks for 


The Glory of His Robe 

their pains. I do not think that he would order them 
to knock off work for half a day just because his scape¬ 
grace brother had returned. And do you know I have 
a suspicion that his father was just a little afraid of 
his first-born, and had the calf killed, the dinner going 
and the dance under way long before the good boy ap¬ 
peared upon the horizon? His actions upon his ar¬ 
rival at the house give good reason for the assump¬ 
tion that he was an uncharitable, proud, self-righteous, 
jealous, touchy, sulky, dogged individual. In very 
truth he was “the man who spoiled the music.” “He 
was angry and would not go in.” 

It may be that some of my readers do not agree 
with me in my conclusions. They urge that the elder 
brother was a good son. I grant that—but with a 
reservation. I do not doubt for a moment that he 
was industrious, and that he gave a correct account of 
every copper that was received or spent on the old 
farm. No money was squandered under his manage¬ 
ment. He could point with honest pride to his record 
as a farmer. It was clean. He'had been faithful to 
his trust. All that is in his favour. It is a great thing 
to be able to say as he did: “Lo, these many years do 
I serve thee, and I never transgressed a commandment 
of thine.” It is very impressive to be able to point 
to our high moral standards, and to emphasise our 
purity of life by comparison with some poor unfor¬ 
tunate who has drifted so far down that he is little 
better than the swine that he feeds. But, when we 
have said all that, have we said the last word? I find 
poor Robbie Burns’ words ringing in my ears: 

[174] 


The Prodigals Brother 

“If I have wandered in those paths 
Of life I ought to shun— 

As something, loudly, in my breast, 
Remonstrates I have done— 

Thou knowest Thou hast formed me 
With passions wild and strong; 

And list’ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short, 

Or frailty stepped aside, 

Do Thou All-Good—for such Thou art- 
In shades of darkness hide.” 

There are some men who confront more temptation 
in half an hour than some others do in a whole life¬ 
time. I think that the prodigal belonged to that class. 
The elder brother did not understand how hard it was 
for such a lad just to be good. I am confirmed in 
this view when I examine the context. There it is 
clear that the elder brother stands for the respectably 
religious Pharisees, while the prodigal represents the 
publicans and sinners—two types of character which 
are to be found in every age and clime. Have you not 
felt as you have read the story that you cannot love 
the good boy of the family? Why? Not because he 
is good, not because he is industrious, not because he 
possesses pardonable family pride, not because his soul 
burns with indignation over his brother’s sins—you 
will justify and praise him for all that—but because 
the fellow seems to possess not a single particle of 
fraternal love and compassion. You cannot detect the 
faintest throb of a big brotherly heart that yearns over 
the wee laddie who has gone wrong. (You know the 

[175] 


The Glory of His Robe 

little fellow is always a little chap to his elder brother.) 
You cannot help wondering if this big fellow ever, in 
all his life, yearned over the wee one. In many re¬ 
spects he is a fine man, but he lacks heart. 

It is with great relief that we think of the father, 
to whom the thoughts of the bad boy turned in the 
hour of his deepest degradation and despair, and whose 
heart was tender towards the prodigal for no other 
reason than that he was his boy. How his soul was 
filled with rejoicing when he heard the trembling words 
of confession: “Father, I have sinned.” How often 
we have thanked God for that story, because it gives 
us a glimpse of the Heavenly Father’s heart; and that 
glimpse is so reassuring that the vilest sinner is en¬ 
couraged to approach with the confession of the prodi¬ 
gal, but with a better plea than his—the plea that One 
died for sinners! 


f 


XXXIII 


TEMPERS OF VARIOUS KINDS 

O NE of the best stories attributed to Dr. Alexander 
Whyte, the great Scottish preacher, who has just 
passed away, concerns a Highland minister who visited 
Edinburgh in order to secure funds. Dr. Whyte gave 
him a list of possible contributors; and the Hielan’ 
man went on quest in a dogged sort of way. One of 
the men on the list was a rich merchant, who ap¬ 
parently had more gold than grace. The sky pilot put 
his case tersely, but with little tact or cleverness. Very 
soon he was arguing heatedly, and the rich man asked 
indignantly, “What do you take me for?” Quick as 
thought came the reply, “A hell-deserving sinner like 
myself.” That, of course, was the end of the appeal. 
Returning to Dr. Whyte, the Highland sky pilot told 
the tale. “You never said that?” queried the preacher. 
“Ay,” replied the Highlander. “Well, well,” said 
Dr. Whyte, “Eve often wanted to tell him the same 
thing myself. Here’s five pounds for you.” 

That story has suggested my subject. I suppose 
most of my readers have at one time and another 
heard a good deal concerning temper, and most of it 
has been of a condemnatory character. And yet, 
when you come to think of it, a great deal has been 
said of late years regarding the weakness, and inert- 


The Glory of His Robe 

ness, and cowardice of men who will take offence at 
nothing, not even a reflection upon their honour; will 
defend no one, not even their own mother; will be 
furious at no crime, enthusiastic over no cause, will 
fawn upon oppressors and be courteous to evil-doers. 
They have no self-respect, no resources of indignation 
—no flashpoint. Do you respect them? I do not. 

I am aware that we are dealing with edged tools 
when we are discussing temper. Lately I have read the 
whole series of Mrs. Grace S. Richmond’s books re¬ 
specting Red Pepper Burns. They have a certain 
psychological interest for me. One of the most inter¬ 
esting studies in the life of the peppery doctor is the 
way in which he got control of his temper. He tried 
everything, amongst others, chopping down trees, and 
driving his high-power car at terrific speed. “Jord,” 
he said, '‘you don’t know it, but I can be a fiend in¬ 
carnate.” “I don’t believe it,” refused King stoutly. 
“It’s absolutely true. When I get into a red rage I 
could twist a neck more easily than I can get a grip 
on myself.” And yet, if we are to believe the writer, 
Red Pepper Burns’ outbursts of wrath were generally 
occasioned by the wrongs which he beheld other folks 
suffering. He was a big-hearted, generous soul, and 
we love him for his very fieriness; yet he confesses 
that his temper leads him to do things that are un¬ 
worthy of him, and causei him the deepest regret. 
“Years back, when I had a rush of blood to the head 
of that sort, I used to take it out in swearing until the 
atmosphere was blue; but I can’t do that any more. I 
did it once too often—and the last time I sent a dying 

[178] 


Tempers of Various Kinds 

soul to the other world with my curses in its ears— 
the soul of a child, Jord. I lost my head because his 
mother had disobeyed my orders, and the little life 
was going out when it might have stayed. When I 
came to myself I realised what I had done—and I 
made my vow. Never again, no matter what hap¬ 
pened! And I’ve kept it. But sometimes, as to-night 
—Well, there’s only one thing I can do: keep my 
tongue between my teeth as long as I can, and then get 
away somewhere and smash things until I’m black and 
blue.” 

I have no doubt that many of my readers will sym¬ 
pathise with the doctor in his fight for the control of 
that fiery temper. One of the weakest, most despic¬ 
able attitudes to take towards a hot temper is to declare 
that it is an inheritance, for which we are not re¬ 
sponsible. I have brown eyes and brown hair. I am 
not responsible for that. I am responsible for the use 
which I make of those eyes, and the tidiness of that 
hair. I cannot very well change their colour; but my 
temper is not in the same category as my hair. It has 
a moral quality. It can be trained. Some folks do 
not believe that. You can excuse a baby’s cry of pain; 
but you certainly find it difficult to excuse the cry of 
temper. Any parent, who allows his child to work him¬ 
self into a rage, and puts forth no effort to teach him 
self-control, is laying foundations for future trouble. 

But it is not the man with the hot temper who is 
hardest to get along with. It is the sensitive fellow 
who always has a sore toe ready for somebody else to 
stumble over, and somehow has a feeling that every- 


The Glory of His Robe 

body is out with a searchlight looking for that toe. 
And they all find it. Of course, he feels hurt. Have 
you ever met the gentleman? I think that I should 
rather meet Red Pepper Burns at his worst than the 
fellow who is always getting hurt, who takes offence 
easily, who is continually telling how sensitive he is, 
and in plain English, is always playing the baby. 

And the sullen temper! I am almost afraid to say 
much about that lest I should not be just. As a rule 
its professor has patience, and tenacity, and self-re¬ 
straint in ordinary affairs; but let that sullen temper 
be crossed and it can scarcely be pacified. A hot- 
tempered man is usually generous towards those who 
have offended him. You rather pity the man who takes 
offence easily, and regard him with commiseration and 
sometimes with contempt. But the sullen fellow— 
does he not make your heart stand still at times, as you • 
think of the hate and bitterness that he carries in his 
soul? He is far more likely to knife you than the hot- 
tempered man. He often will follow you for years 
just to get even. Some of the most tragic occurrences 
of human life are connected with men of obstinate, ma¬ 
lign, bitter temper. It is a tremendous struggle for 
such men to show forth the Christian graces. Often 
you think that they will be amongst the number who 
are said to be saved “so as by fire. ,, And yet there are 
mighty victories accomplished in the human breast. 
Once I congratulated a man upon his self-control in 
the face of great provocation. His reply was: “Once 
I could not have done it. I have a devilish temper. 
Nobody but God and myself knows how terrible it is. 
[180] 


Tempers of Various Kinds 

I have prayed for help that I might be able to control 
it. I have honestly striven to repress it. To-day I 
was sorely tried; but I knew that, if I once gave way, 
I should say and perhaps do things that would reflect 
upon my credit as a man and a Christian, and I lifted 
up my heart for Divine help.” That little glimpse into 
a good man’s soul led me to feel that it is not so easy 
to be good as we sometimes think—in fact it is the big¬ 
gest battle that is ever fought. 

Do not be discouraged because you have a temper. 
You would not amount to much without one. Remem¬ 
ber Jesus Christ. Did you ever notice this verse: “He 
looked round about on them in anger, being grieved at 
the hardening of their hearts ?” Do you remember how 
the Master drove the traders out of the Temple? 
There is no sin about having a temper. The sin con¬ 
sists in not controlling it. Christ was tempted in all 
points like as we are yet without sin that He might 
know how to succour them that are tempted. Mrs. 
Red Pepper Burns said: “Red, dear, why not bank the 
fires; . . . the fires are warming when they are kept 
under control.” It is worth while praying, not that we 
should be deprived of temper, but that God should 
help us to bank the fires; for we have work to do, and 
power is necessary for its accomplishment. We 
daren’t dissipate energy. Bank the fires! 


XXXIV 


SIMPLE FIDELITY 

I T is said that Henry Ward Beecher was very fond 
of good horses. On one occasion he was admiring 
a fine specimen of the equine strain, and remarked to 
the owner: 'This is a very fine horse, Mr. Smith.” 
The reply came, “He is a fine horse, Mr. Beecher. 
That horse will go anywhere you put him, and will do 
anything that a horse can do.” A smile broke over the 
tired preacher’s face as he exclaimed, “I wish he were 
a member of my church.” 

Simple fidelity is a wonderful index of the quality of 
a man’s character. It does not require great gifts and 
fine opportunities to produce faithfulness in the per¬ 
formance of the duties which come to our hand. Many 
a soul whom we pronounce as of very ordinary talent 
towers above his fellows when judged by the standard 
of simple fidelity. But what a compliment it is to an 
employe when the boss says concerning him: “Jim will 
attend to that; and you may depend upon it that it will 
be done right.” My heart always warms towards a 
man of Jim’s type, for I know that he possesses quali¬ 
ties that far outrate brilliance. He is one of the de- 
pendables that keep others sweet, and aid not a few to 
keep their faith in their fellowmen. 

It seems to me that simple fidelity is not a natural 


Simple Fidelity 

product. Heredity does a great deal for some folks, 
and we often say concerning a man: “He ought to be a 
good man. He had a very fine father.” Yet there are 
instances in which a good father, like David, has a 
son like Absalom, who helps to cover the family name 
with shame. No doubt a father’s moral struggles and 
victories react upon his children, but most boys must 
fight their own battles. That is why I regard fidelity 
in little things as being a moral growth rather than an 
endowment. 

Fidelity is due very largely to early training. A 
child whose ideas of truthfulness and standards of 
duty will not bear investigation, will likely develop a 
very flimsy character. But let a child be taught in the 
good old-fashioned way what a terrible thing sin is, 
how God hates it, how it grieves His heart, hurts other 
people and is the secret of Calvary’s cross; let that 
child know that sin hurts his own character, and that 
others will not trust him, nor can he hold their com¬ 
plete trust and affection until his weakness be over¬ 
come, and, in all likelihood, you will find him making 
an honest effort to be worthy of the trust of others, 
and, better still, to win the approval of his God. 

The greatest weakness in present day teaching is the 
over-emphasis which is placed upon success; and suc¬ 
cess is judged in terms of notoriety and money. Peo¬ 
ple want to be noticed and they desire wealth. For 
these things they often sacrifice that which makes life 
really great. Our children should be instructed how 
great is the worth of simple fidelity, no matter how un¬ 
important are the duties which are laid upon them. 


The Glory of His Robe 

Fidelity is not always easy. Very often it is very 
difficult. Tasks are monotonous. Duties are unreason¬ 
able. We weary of the dreary round, and yet it is 
the faithful performance of duty, day in and day out, 
that develops the man who is as dependable as the 
Bank of England. 

There are many reasons why men should be faith¬ 
ful, but we have not time to discuss them here. The 
greatest motive leading to fidelity is, no doubt, the 
claim of others upon us. Many years ago a British 
general in rallying his men cried: “Men, we must not 
fail. What will they say of us in England?” The 
call to remember the interests at home had much to 
do with gaining a victory which is one of the glories 
of the Empire. 

I wonder if the Lord Jesus, in His wonderful prayer 
of intercession, did not reveal very clearly how much 
His disciples would depend upon His example as the 
ideal of the kind of life which they would be expected 
to live. They were facing things such as they had 
never encountered—experiences that would search their 
very souls—and Jesus, with the Cross in full sight, 
prayed concerning His followers: “For their sakes I 
sanctify myself that they themselves may in truth be 
sanctified.” In that prayer, did He not remind Him¬ 
self that were He to fail, to give way, there would be 
no reason left to those who looked to Him why they 
should be faithful and hold on? Their lives were 
bound up with His and their fidelity was dependent 
upon His fidelity. 

George Eliot speaks of the dreadful sin of tearing 

[184] 


Simple Fidelity 

down the altar of trust in some other heart. It is well 
for all of us to remember that our failure to be faith¬ 
ful in the things entrusted to us may mean shipwreck 
to some other life, which, unknown to us it may be, is 
depending upon us for inspiration and courage to face 
life’s hardest battles. We know by experience what a 
shock it is to wake up to the fact that a trusted friend 
has proved unfaithful. We have experienced the con¬ 
sternation, the dismay, the bewilderment of that hour. 
We remember the feeling that filled our soul: “There 
is no one that we can trust now.” Everything seemed 
to have gone awreck. We should not like to repeat the 
experience. But we recall with what satisfaction our 
heart finally decided: “There are two whom I can 
trust still—God and Mother,” and that was the begin¬ 
ning of a new faith in Divine and human character. 
Other souls may have to face a similar struggle; but 
if we have any altruism in our natures, we must shrink 
from being the occasion of another man’s fight in the 
darkness to recover faith in his fellow-men. Far 
grander is it to be simply faithful, performing the 
duties of life with strict fidelity, and even although we 
do occupy a very important place in the eyes of our 
fellows to have the assurance of conscience that we 
have done our best. Then our friends may look back 
upon us with the feeling of comfort which the old 
text expresses: “A man shall be as a hiding place from 
the wind, and a covert from the tempest, as rivers of 
water in a dry place, as the shadow of a great rock in 
a weary land.” 


The Glory of His Robe 

“What is the Bible the world is reading? 

Your daily life and mine. 

What are the sermons the world is heeding? 

Your daily life and mine. 

What are the creeds that the world is needing? 
True lives, yours and mine.” 


I! 1 86] 


XXXV 


THE SURPRISE OF APPRECIATION 

O NE day, not a great while ago, I met*a man from 
the Old Land who had just arrived in Canada. 
He was not fitting in at all, but, of course, I had to 
be polite, and, as a consequence, inquired how he was 
getting on. The answer was one that I had never 
heard from the lips of a Canadian: “Oh* not very well, 
sir. The boss does not appear to appreciate me.” I 
wanted to laugh, but didn’t. Instead, I just asked: 
“Have you been telling him how you do things in 
England?” and the answer came, “Well, yes, I have.” 
“How did he take it?” “Not very well. In fact, he 
did not seem to like it at all, and said some nasty things 
about the Old Country.” But a day or so later I met 
the fellow again and there was hope in his face. Be¬ 
fore I had time to ask any question, he broke out with, 
“I’m pretty sure the boss appreciates me. He said 
some very kind things to me this morning. I shall get 
on now, I am sure.” During the few minutes that I 
spent in his company the whole theme of his conversa¬ 
tion was “the boss,” and his appreciation. It filled his 
horizon. It made his tongue sing with joy, and gave 
to Canada a new beauty and a new promise. 

There are some tragedies due to the fact that appre¬ 
ciation is not expressed as freely as it should be. Many 

[187] 


The Glory of His Robe 

a time domestic troubles might be averted if husbands 
and wives had the bump of appreciation developed to 
a greater degree. Once while I was doing some pas¬ 
toral visiting I inquired of a lady how she and her 
husband were getting along with a little girl that they 
had recently adopted. And the answer came: “We 
just love her. She is a most appreciative child. Wil¬ 
liam just loves her, and she loves William. You would 
think that they were father and daughter.” And the 
little girl came along the street, and laid hold of her 
“papa’s hand,” and rubbed her wee cheek upon it, and 
the man’s eyes grew tender, for you know that it is a 
wonderful experience to have a lovable little girl look¬ 
ing up into your face and calling you her daddy. 

One night I was sitting with a man who had been 
unfortunate in business. He was blue, very blue, and 
when I spoke of how the community trusted him, his 
eyes filled. He said, “Please tell me that again. I 
had thought that I had lost the confidence of the com¬ 
munity. You know that would be an awful expe¬ 
rience. If people did not regard me as an honest man, 
of what value would be my Christian testimony? A 
castaway! I would hate to be that.” And with a big 
lump in my throat, I said, “Man, you are anything but 
that. Folks trust you, man!” And the poor fellow 
said, “You really think they do, do you?” And what 
could I do other than to make my assertion as positive 
as possible, for another man’s soul-comfort depended 
upon my answer? I just wish that I could see him 
again, for I have been reading the Gospel of Matthew 
since then, and a little bit of its spirit, I trust, has 

C 1 88] 


The Surprise of Appreciation 

come into my soul. Matthew had a great “feel” for 
just the word that will comfort. Just read the last 
paragraph of the 25th chapter of Matthew’s Gospel 
and permit its wondrous suggestiveness to stir your 
soul: “Come, ye blessed of my Father, I was hungered, 
thirsty, naked, a stranger, sick and in prison.” “Lord, 
when saw we Thee?” “Inasmuch as ye did it unto 
one of the least of these, my brethren, ye did it unto 
me.” A number of years ago I heard of a mother who 
was close to the gates, but, like many another soul, she 
felt that she had done but little for her Lord, and she 
did not like to go empty-handed. She had a large 
family of growing children, and they had taken every 
effort of mind and heart and body. A tear trickled 
down her cheek and was noticed by her baby boy. 
With that almost uncanny insight so characteristic of 
childhood, he seemed to understand what was passing 
in his mother’s mind, and, climbing onto the bed, whis¬ 
pered, “Mamma, just show Jesus your hands.” Look¬ 
ing down, the sick woman got a glimpse of broken 
finger nails and stained fingers, indicative of the kind 
of life she had been living. “Just show Jesus your 
hands.” Yes, she would, for He knew, and she would 
bring the proofs before His memory once more and 
tell Him that she had tried to be faithful to duty. 
She passed out in peace, for she was confident that her 
Saviour would be just towards His little one who had 
tried to be true. 

When I become blue, that story comes back to me 
sometimes, and it comforts. Some of us have not a 
very great deal to offer to our Lord, but we have en- 


The Glory of His Robe 

deavoured to perform the day's work faithfully, we 
have tried to be true and honest and kind, we have 
aimed at doing our best for Him—alas! the life-record 
is such a puny handful! But it cheers us to remember 
that the Great Judge is thinking of more than flowers. 
He remembers the efforts that His people put forth to 
please Him. He remembers the aim, and the fidelity. 
We do not need to be afraid to show our hands. 

Let me tell a story concerning one of the most faith¬ 
ful men I ever knew, who, however, lacked a little 
something in his religion to make it attractive and him 
useful in personal work with men. One night he came 
to see me and opened up his soul in the fashion that 
one man has with another. He told me about his 
hopes and aims in life, told me about his conversion, 
his church connection, and his desire to see other men 
brought into the Kingdom. And then he let fall a 
word that opened up to me the sight of a soul’s long¬ 
ing. Said he, “Pastor,” for it was in the days that I 
was a pastor, “sometimes I feel that I would give my 
last dollar if only I had evidence that I had led one 
soul to Christ.” Well, that night I tossed upon my 
pillow and wondered why such a good man as I knew 
my friend to be, should not have the soul-winner’s joy, 
and I am not ashamed to say that my heart was lifted 
upon his behalf. The following evening a man dropped 
into the manse. He was seeking membership in the 
church, and, when I asked what led him to the Saviour, 
he told me that my discouraged friend had been the 
means of his conversion. Those were not the days 
when the telephone was universal, and it was cold 
[190] 


The Surprise of Appreciation 

Winter weather. I had to watch for my man. When 
I called him in and told him the story that I had heard 
the night before, the surprise upon that man’s face 
was wonderful. Many times afterwards he said, “I 
cannot describe the joy that filled my soul. Somehow 
I could not help feeling that God appreciates my work 
for that man. Pastor, there are times when I wake 
up at night, and think of the time when we shall all 
meet in the glory land, and I think the Lord will see 
John and me walking about the streets of gold and will 
say, ‘Well, William, you did a good day’s work that 
day when you brought John into the kingdom/ and I 
will say, ‘The best day’s work I ever did. There is 
no joy like the joy of soul-winning/ ” 


XXXVI 


THE APPEAL OF THE CHILDREN 

I F there be any tenderness in the nature it is aroused 
by the appeal of childhood. We have known 
grouchy old fellows, who were popularly supposed to 
have no kindness and benevolence in their natures, 
who simply became transformed in the presence of a 
little child. An old woman in a great city of the old 
land, who had won an unenviable reputation in police 
circles, was noticed by an officer to pick up something 
on the street and conceal it in her apron. Approach¬ 
ing her, he demanded to see what she had there. It 
was just some broken glass which, shamefacedly she 
said, she had picked up because she was afraid it might 
injure the feet o’ the bairnies. Love for children is 
the cord which binds many a man and woman to home, 
and decency, and hard work. 

In the Honan Messenger there was a story told re¬ 
garding a Chinese mother. With her husband and 
two daughters, nine and twelve years of age, she lived 
in a village at the mouth of the coal mines, fourteen 
miles from the city of Wuan. When the famine came 
down upon the land last Winter, this section of the 
country had already felt the cruel pinch of want since 
the previous Summer. The man was soon suffering 
from famine fever. He lay ill for months. Bit by bit 
[192] 


The Appeal of the Children 

everything they owned was sold. There was nothing 
in the home with which to buy even one ounce of bread. 
The poor mother knew not what to do. She must sell 
one of her daughters or the whole family would starve 
to death. There was one alternative and only one. 
Can you imagine what it was? To be sold herself— 
to be sold as the wife of another man, to go and live 
with him and never have her children again. She 
chose this alternative. A relative of the husband at¬ 
tended to the transaction. The poor woman was sold 
for eleven Mexican dollars—about six dollars in gold. 
The sick man gave his consent. It would put off the 
day of starvation a little longer. So the mother went 
away, leaving the girls to care for their sick father. 
The price of her sacrifice kept the family for two 
months; and once more there was nothing to eat. It 
was just at that juncture that the Presbyterian mis¬ 
sionaries opened up relief work in that district. The 
family will not starve now; but it is a family of only 
three. The mother who gave herself to save her loved 
ones cannot return to them. 

The friend who sent me that Chinese paper had 
marked the story which I have just told, knowing that 
it might appeal to me. As I looked over the little 
journal I discovered many things that lay hold of the 
sympathies of any child-lover. For example, there is 
the story of three wee mites who, on a bitter Winter 
day, are left by their parents in the only home they 
have—a mud hut with no window and no door, only 
walls and a roof. The parents are away begging, and 
these little tots creep out into sunshine to catch, if pos- 


The Glory of His Robe 

sible, a little warmth from it. The picture which Mrs. 
G. M. Ross paints of these little ones following the 
sunny spot around that mud-hut and then, when the 
sun went down, creeping into their comfortless abode, 
is enough to make any child-lover sob in sympathy. 
You feel a wondrous kinship with the Chinese woman, 
who took some of her own bedding over to the hut, 
for, as she said, “I could not sleep for thinking of 
those crying children. ,, 

But it is a far call from Canada to China; yet the 
sobbing children in that far-off land remind me that 
we have many children at home who need to be 
fathered and mothered. Social service workers have 
lately told the people of Ontario that it is becoming in¬ 
creasingly difficult to obtain homes for the children en¬ 
trusted to them. Many of these little ones have no 
parents. Most of them would have been better had 
they never known father or mother. None of these 
little ones is responsible for the sad case in which they 
find themselves. The Children’s Aid Society is doing 
the best that it can for them. Experience, however, has 
clearly demonstrated that institutional training is not 
the ideal life for a child. If the best in the child is 
to be developed, it will be called out only through 
maternal and paternal love, sympathy and teaching. It 
is that which the Children’s Aid Society is appealing 
for. As far as money is concerned, the society is not 
so badly off. She has “Old Man Ontario” to fall back 
upon. But heart-love, and the sacrifice which springs 
therefrom, are not to be purchased with money. They 
are priceless. 


The Appeal of the Children 

A home does not require to be very ambitious to be¬ 
come the dwelling-place of a little child. The Lord 
of Life and Glory did not disdain a stable and a 
manger. I fancy that, when he was a laddie, he was 
quite pleased to be known as “the carpenter’s son.” 
Some of our great men to-day were born in very hum¬ 
ble homes indeed. It is the heart-welcome which the 
child receives that makes the home. I have been won¬ 
dering whether, amongst the readers of these Medita¬ 
tions, there may not be a motherly heart here and there 
which would welcome the opportunity of mothering a 
child for the child’s sake, for the sake of Ontario, and 
for the sake of the Saviour who once was a child. 

Every Sabbath that I am able to get to church I meet 
a lady, who, some time ago, adopted a little girl. The 
child is an attractive youngster, strong, healthy and 
full of energy. She can think of more mischief than 
her “mother” ever dreamed of; but that little one has 
wrapped herself around that woman’s heart. Do you 
think that she would give her up now? Not if I am a 
fair judge. When she adopted that little girl, she did 
it under a deep conviction that the Lord had given her 
that work to do for Him. She was almost afraid to 
attempt it, for, like all children, the little one was “a 
bunch of possibilities” and some of these possibilities 
bulked very large and very forbiddingly in her mind. 
She has given unsparingly of her love and her toil to 
the child. And the child is returning it. Her 
“mamma” has a wonderful place in her wee, generous 
heart, and her “papa” is a real papa to the bairn, who, 
so short a time ago, did not know a parent’s love. 

[195] 


The Glory of His Robe 

I am not suggesting that any of my readers should 
do as that woman has done because it is an easy thing. 
It is a difficult task. It means putting aside a good 
many things that you would like to do, the sacrifice of 
a great many of your little home comforts, the break¬ 
ing up of some of your quiet evenings, the diminish¬ 
ing of the savings account a wee bit— but it will ex¬ 
pand your heart. It will bring childish laughter into 
your eyes. It will keep you young. It will bring into 
your soul a sense of satisfaction; for the love of a 
child is a wonderful pillow upon which to lay one's 
head in view of the old age that will inevitably come. 
Let me apply the words of Pharaoh's daughter to the 
mother of Moses in a sense which is somewhat differ¬ 
ent to that which she intended: “Take this child away 
and nurse it for me and I will give thee thy wages." 
I wonder, my reader, if the voice of the Christ, who 
was once a child, may not be speaking to you in your 
childless home on behalf of some wee bairn who needs 
a heart to mother and father him. 


[196] 


XXXVII 


THE PERVERSITY OF HUMAN NATURE 

A GREAT deal of the trouble that is in the world 7 
a certain writer tells us, is due to “natural cussed¬ 
ness,” and no doubt that is true; for it seems to be a 
very common complaint that, forbid a child to do a 
thing and that is the very thing he wants to do. The 
first attempt to introduce potatoes into France was due 
to a well known scientific authority named Parmen- 
tier. This was in the 17th century. He imported 
some of the plants, set them out in a field near Paris, 
and by means of learned pamphlets and talk with 
people, tried to have the new vegetable brought into 
cultivation and the market. But it was all in vain. 
Potatoes did not prove attractive; and, when the 
planted ones matured, it seemed that they would rot in 
the ground on account of the prejudice against them. 
Then some wise man, who knew human nature—a 
student of psychology with practical ideas—suggested 
that peasants could not be made to try potatoes by per¬ 
suasion, but might be led to adopt them if they were 
forbidden to eat them. His idea was adopted. Many 
signs were erected in plain sight, forbidding, under 
severe penalties, any one from taking any potatoes 
from the field. The peasants at once began to raid 


The Glory of His Robe 

the hills, and, before long, most of the ripe tubers 
were stolen and eaten with a relish. 

Some years ago Toronto had a Mayor who was 
noted for his sturdy independence. Before he was the 
occupant of the Mayor’s chair, one day he was driving 
along King Street and came to Don bridge. There he 
saw a notice something to this effect: “Any person or 
persons driving over this bridge at a faster pace than 
a walk will be prosecuted according to law.” He 
drove over. At the end of the structure, he deliber¬ 
ately turned round, thundered over that bridge at a 
two-forty gait, met a constable at the other end, and 
had to give his name and appear in court next morning 
on a charge of violating one of the city by-laws. He 
said that that notice made him mad. However, that 
was not what got him off. He contended that a bridge 
is part of the public highway, and should be strong 
enough to stand any traffic allowed upon the street, no 
matter at what rate of speed it is driven. 

Recall your youth and you will remember what 
sport it was just to get a chance to rob the orchard of 
some old curmudgeon, who thought that a fierce dog 
was a guarantee of undisturbed possession of a few lit¬ 
tle sour apples. Did ever sweet apples taste as sweet 
as those which we as boys ate at a safe distance from 
the old man, but which, we informed him, in very lurid 
terms, were grown upon his lot? And the fishing! 
Did any boy ever find greater delight than in trespass¬ 
ing upon a lot upon which a notice against trespassers 
was placed? And do you remember how we used to 
go swimming in forbidden places, and, when a con- 
[i 9 8] 


The Perversity of Human Nature 

stable appeared, tied our clothes in a bundle, put it 
upon our head, swam across the river, and then placed 
the thumb of scorn to the nose of contempt, greatly 
to the wrath of the said constable and to the delight 
of our boyish companions. These were great days, 
because a boy is naturally a sort of outlaw. 

There is a story told of two farmers, each of whom 
had a big family of girls. One family had inherited 
a double portion of good looks, the other was rather 
plain in appearance. But the homely family all mar¬ 
ried off, long before the other girls appeared to be 
thinking of matrimonial experiments. But if they 
were not, their father was. He paid a visit to his 
neighbour and said: “Look here, Smith, how is it that 
all your girls have got married, while mine, who are 
just as smart as yours, and a good deal better look¬ 
ing, are all at home yet?” “Well,” answered Smith, 
“let me ask you a question, Jones. How do you treat 
the young fellows when they call round at your place ?” 
“Just as well as I can. I tell them where to tie up 
the horse. Often I put the animal in the stable and 
the buggy in the driving shed. I always tell the girls 
to see that the young fellow is well fed before he takes 
the long drive home. Sometimes I actually keep him 
all night.” “Let me tell you a story,” said Smith. 
“One year I had a lot of peastraw which no animal 
around the place wanted to eat. The horses refused 
it, the hogs wouldn't touch it, even the sheep rejected 
it. I carted it out to a field, intending to let it rot for 
fertilizer, but I found the cattle and horses that were 
pasturing in that field, tramping it under foot. So I 


The Glory of His Robe 

built a big stake and rider fence round it. Next morn¬ 
ing in they were again. I fixed the fence afresh, but 
again it was broken down; and, do you know, Jones, 
before Spring all that peastraw had been eaten. Now 
when a young fellow begins to spark one of my girls, 

I treat him as mean as I can. I order him off the 
place, set the dog on him, get out the old gun and 
threaten him with instant death, order the girl to have 
nothing to do with him, and, Jones, very soon there is 
an elopement. Now I have five as nice sons-in-law as 
any man in five counties; for there is nothing a man 
wants as bad as the thing he thinks somebody else 
wants to keep him from getting.” 

Probably I have said sufficient to illustrate the per¬ 
versity of human nature. The demands of law stir up 
the rebellion that is latent in the soul. In an old book 
which we call Genesis, there is a story regarding the 
origin of sin. Satan is said to have asked our first 
parents: “Yea, hath God said, ye shall not eat of any 
tree of the garden?” And the woman said: “Of the 
fruit of the trees of the garden we may eat, but of the 
fruit of the tree which is in the midst of the garden, 
God hath said, Ye shall not eat of it, neither shall ye 
touch it, lest ye die.” And that old story goes on to 
show that the tempter used the perversity of human na¬ 
ture to destroy the first human pair, and thus to poison 
human nature at the very fountain. 

When I was a boy I used to wonder why the Saviour \ 
did not come many centuries before His glorious ad¬ 
vent. As the years go by I am learning that it takes a 
great while to convince any human being that he is a 
[200] 


The Perversity of Human Nature 

sinner—by that I mean, not an imperfect individual, 
but a hell-deserving sinner. The vast majority of peo¬ 
ple begin to justify themselves. That sort of thing 
took its rise, according to the Genesis story, away back 
in Eden. Adam, poor miserable soul that he was, put 
all the blame upon his wife, and Eve blamed the ser¬ 
pent, and so it has been all down through the ages. 
Men blame their heredity, their surroundings, their 
companionships, their wives; yes, even God himself. 
I am a great admirer of Robbie Burns, but I always 
felt that he endeavoured to excuse his lapses from 
virtue in his “Prayer in the Prospect of Death”: 

Thou know’st that Thou hast formed me 
With passions wild and strong; 

And list’ning to their witching voice 
Has often led me wrong. 

Where human weakness has come short 
Or frailty stepped aside, 

Do Thou, All-Good—for such Thou art— 

In shades of darkness hide. 

Poor Robbie tried to lessen his responsibility by 
pleading that God had made it easy for him to sin. 

There is no doubt that the purpose of the Ten Com¬ 
mandments was to impress the Jews with the fact that 
the human heart is in rebellion against God. Paul 
says: “By the Law is the Knowledge of sin. Yea, I 
had not known sin but by the Law.” He tells us that 
he went on in the confidence that he was a pretty good 
man; as “touching the deeds of the Law,” he was 
blameless. But one day he learned that the Law 
searches not only deed, but motives. There is a com- 


The Glory of His Robe 

mand, “Thou shalt not covet,” and Paul’s conscience, 
being in good working order, began to make him very 
miserable. “Sin revived and I (the self-satisfied, the 
faultless) died.” Then a poor sinner needed a Saviour, 
and the Lord of Glory seems to have made a special 
trip to the earth to bless the Man of Tarsus. “Saul, 
Saul, why persecutest thou Me?” “Who art Thou, 
Lord?” “I am Jesus whom thou persecutest.” “Lord, 
what wilt Thou have me to do?” The purpose of the 
Divine law is to lead sinners to realise their need of a 
Saviour. 


[202] 


XXXVIII 


THE RELIGIOUS PERIPATETIC 

M ANY years ago a gentleman in Athens taught a 
certain system of philosophy as he walked with 
his pupils in the Lyceum there, and ever since then that 
system has been known as the peripatetic philosophy or 
the walk-about system. I was going to place at the 
head of this article, “The Religious Gad-about,” and 
then I thought that perhaps the word “peripatetic” 
might appear a little more dignified to some of my 
readers, and so I made the change. But words mean 
little. A rose by some other name smells just as sweet, 
and changing the name by which some things are called 
does not make them smell pleasanter. So you are free 
to call the man under discussion what you like, peri¬ 
patetic or gad-about, it makes no difference, provided 
that you clearly understand that he does not seem to 
value a church home, but has some of the instincts of 
the religious tramp. 

There are a few people in the world who love change. 
They cannot live in one house long, nor continue in 
one employment, nor live with one wife. The mo¬ 
notony of it gets upon their nerves. They want a 
change. There is a story told of two Scots who were 
attending the funeral of the wife of a third. Said 
Number One to Number Two: “What are ye greeting 

[203] 


The Glory of His Robe 

aboot, Jamie? She’s nae relation of yours?” And 
Number Two replied: “That’s jist the tribble. Every- 
buddy’s getting a change but me.” When these people 
are classed religiously they are popularly known as 
“floaters,” and constitute the bulk of the multitude 
which the churches are making such desperate efforts 
to attract to service. The religious advertisement owes 
its origin to the people who love to roam. 

It must be said that the average Protestant denomina¬ 
tion does not offer to the worshipper any great change 
in the character of the sermonic work that is presented 
to the local congregation. The minister is expected to 
do all the preaching, as well as to do the pastoral work 
and to run a lot of machinery that increases in volume 
and complexity as the years go by. Some ministers 
will never make anything but very mediocre preachers, 
yet they have to sweat in the pulpit Sabbath after Sab¬ 
bath, conscious of the fact that the people are bored 
by the sermon. But they love the pastoral work, and 
the people say: “I know that he is not much of a 
preacher, but he is a splendid pastor. I shall never 
forget how he came to our house when we were in 
trouble; he was a great comfort, for he seemed to 
understand just what we were going through. We can 
stand the poor sermons on Sunday, for the sake of 
such a pastor during the week.” That is a beautiful 
tribute to a minister. Yet the Roman Church manages 
a little better, I fancy. She has great orders of preach¬ 
ers—Jesuits, Dominicans, Franciscans, Paulists, and, 
at certain seasons of the year, these men visit parishes 
all over the land, and the people hear preaching that is 
[204] 


The Religious Peripatetic 

the talk of the parish for months afterwards. How 
many little rural churches the different Protestant de¬ 
nominations have, which scarcely once a year hear a 
sermon from any one else than their minister. Is it 
any wonder that some folks get the “wanderlust,” the 
desire to roam, because they are tired of the same way 
of putting the truth, tired of the same voice, and tired 
of the same face? They want a change. 

Now, all the religious gadabouts in our cities have 
not the excuse that I have offered for the man who 
leaves his church home occasionally. The fact is that 
there are some preachers of such calibre that the con¬ 
gregation is disappointed whenever they are called 
away over Sunday, and is not anxious that the minis¬ 
ter shall be away much, for nobody can take his place, 
so they say. The trouble seems to be that the very 
riches of pulpit wealth spread before the public leads 
people to wander from church to church seeking to 
get rather than to give. The church descends in their 
minds from the high function of service to the much 
lower one of entertainment. They ignore all the work 
that she does during the week and on the Sabbath ex¬ 
cept the one thing that appeals to their aesthetic or emo¬ 
tional or scholarly instincts—they demand good preach¬ 
ing. Of course, their definition of goodness differs ac¬ 
cording to the type of man who undertakes to expound 
what good preaching is. In the majority of cases it 
will be found that the gadabout likes entertainment 
above everything else. 

The gadabout is a great problem. He is what may, 
in perfect justice, be called a religious parasite. If he 
[205] 


The Glory of His Robe 

has any social religious life, it is maintained at the ex¬ 
pense of others. The church organisation, which is 
behind the Sabbath service which he deigns to honour 
occasionally with his presence, is kept up through the 
labours and gifts of others. The men whom he de¬ 
lights to hear were educated very largely by the sacri¬ 
fices of the denomination which he avows he is not 
connected with, but upon whose services he is only an 
occasional attendant. The coin which he so modestly 
places in the plate would not get him admission to a 
picture show; yet he would feel greatly disturbed in 
mind if he did not have a fine seat in the house of 
God. He does not give to charities or to missions. 
He takes no office in church nor Sabbath school. He 
ignores the prayer meeting as if it had no claim upon 
him. He does not pray for the minister, even in pri¬ 
vate, for he has no personal interest in him. He is 
out for entertainment. It is impossible to build up 
any kind of an organisation with a crowd of religious 
peripatetics as material. 

When the gadabout is a family man the problem is 
accentuated. He has no family pew. His children are 
not taught to go to church and Sabbath school. Often 
when a visitor calls and asks what is his church prefer¬ 
ence he tells that it is so-and-so, but, if it is, it must 
be by inheritance, and apparently the inheritance is not 
valued very highly, for it is seldom referred to except 
to evade responsibility. The gadabout parent is re¬ 
sponsible for the irreligious child, and the irreligious 
child is very soon the delinquent child, who figures so 
much in our children’s court. Yes, when the church tie 
[206] 


The Religious Peripatetic 

is broken, and poor gadabout runs from one place to 
another trying to entertain his uneasy soul he is doing 
the very thing that will destroy family religious life. 
The family altar will break down, the conversations 
concerning the sermons will become mere criticisms, 
the songs that were sung as part of the worship will be 
torn to pieces under the sharp tongues of the young 
gadabouts, and the total effect of the roving tendency 
will be unhappy. I have over and over again seen 
families that were gracious in many respects develop 
into an order of religious bone-pickers as a result of 
their peregrinations from one church to another. 

Moreover, it appears to me that the gadabout is re¬ 
sponsible, in some measure at least, for lowering the 
standard of preaching, especially in the churches in 
districts that are regarded as downtown. No doubt it 
is very difficult to keep the church doors open under 
downtown conditions. All sorts of schemes are de¬ 
vised to help the situation. Gadabout usually demands 
a maximum of entertainment with a minimum of re¬ 
ligion, and, as a result, there are some preachers who 
have given way before his insistence. Oh, the pity of 
it! I wonder if we might hear the Master give His 
verdict regarding some of our Sabbath evening serv¬ 
ices, whether the big crowd would be regarded as of as 
great importance as what we do with it. 

To a mere newspaper man it appears that if we had 
a little more of the authority of the prophet in the 
messages which we listen to from Sabbath to Sabbath, 
a little more brotherliness in the treatment which the 
stranger receives from the regular worshippers in the 
[207] 


The Glory of His Robe 

congregation, a little more insistence upon the soul’s 
personal obligation to Jesus Christ, a greater oppor¬ 
tunity for personal service in pushing on the work of 
the Kingdom, a home atmosphere in every congrega¬ 
tion, we should soon eliminate the gadabout and trans¬ 
form him into the servant of others, a man who re¬ 
joices to have a church home, and to make it attractive, 
not simply to his brethren, but to the stranger who 
may chance to sojourn within its gates. 


[208] 


XXXIX 


THE LORD'S CALF 


HERE is a story told concerning a farmer who 



JL had a cow that presented him with twin calves, 
an event very unusual in cattledom. They were beau¬ 
tiful calves, too, and the farmer was as proud of them 
as the good old bossy that mothered them. In fact, the 
farmer was more than proud—he was grateful, so he 
said, to the Giver of all good for the unexpected addi¬ 
tion to his herd of cattle, and promptly dedicated one 
of the calves to the Lord’s cause. But he could not 
easily decide which one should belong to Him, and he 
determined to wait lest he should keep the best for him¬ 
self, and so give the meaner gift to the work of God. 
The weeks went by and the calves grew. There were 
no finer animals in the whole county, and there was no 
prouder cattle-owner than the farmer. He used to lean 
over the old rail fence and watch them with delight. 
He would stroke their soft noses and pat their well- 
covered ribs. He even went the length of selecting 
names for them. One was to be Daisy and the other 
Rosy; but they were as alike as two peas; and he was 
afraid that if he ventured to name them he would have 
to hang a big placard from their necks, for at a dis¬ 
tance he could not tell Daisy from Rosy. The Lord, 
too, should have the best calf, and His calf should have 


The Glory of His Robe 

the best name. He was not sure which name was the 
nicest, for once he had a horse named Daisy, which 
took the blue ribbon at the township fair, and he had 
a cow called Rosy, that took a prize in a butter-fat con¬ 
test. So matters went on for about three months. 
More and more the farmer delighted in his young 
stock, more and more he looked into the future, and 
saw visions of wealth from the activities of Rosy and 
Daisy. But one night, while the twin calves were 
lying by the side of their mother in the pasture field, 
a thunderstorm came on, and one of them was struck 
by lightning. Next morning the owner—to his grief 
and disappointment, discovered poor bossy stiff and 
cold. Hastening to the house to confide his grief to 
the partner of his joys and sorrows, he unburdened his 
soul in these words, “Oh, Mary Ann, the Lord’s calf 
—^ is dead!” 

It is wonderful what hard luck the Lord has in 
business affairs. Have you ever noticed that, when¬ 
ever people are unfortunate in money matters and 
have to retrench, they begin by cutting down their 
giving to religion and charities ? It is the story of the 
Lord’s calf over again. I wonder if the present agita¬ 
tion to close the churches on account of the fuel situa¬ 
tion, while the theatres, movies, poolrooms, and other 
places of amusement are to remain wide open, is not 
another instance of the hard luck of the Lord in re¬ 
gard to His business interests? It is strange how the 
Lord’s calves get into spots where the lightning strikes, 
and strikes to kill. 

Have you ever marked the fact that there are not a 
[210] 


The Lord's Calf 

few folks who find the Sabbath Day very convenient 
as a day of rest, and declare that they are too tired to 
go to church? I wonder what they were doing on 
Saturday night? Isn’t it surprising how many of 
these same people will stay up late on the seventh day 
of the week at dance, or card party, or theatre, and 
then are too tired to attend the House of God on Sun¬ 
day morning? Sometimes I have questioned whether 
the old Jewish legislation regarding the hour when the 
Sabbath commences might not be wisely adopted in 
these days; for, if the rest-day begins at sundown in 
the evening, the people are more likely to be ready for 
worship in the morning. Now we make the night be¬ 
fore our rest-day the most strenuous of the week, and 
we are tired out before we face the duty of public wor¬ 
ship. The Creator, in His wisdom, appointed one day 
in seven as a rest-day, and worship was combined with 
rest. There are some folks who make the Sunday the 
busiest of all the week; there are others who leave out 
the element of worship and who make the rest-day the 
laziest of all the seven. They are both extremists. 
The Lord’s calf has met the lightning somewhere. 

There are some fellows who are great secret society 
men. One would conclude from the number of em¬ 
blems that they carry on the lapel of their coats that 
they were in the jewelry business. Now, I am not out 
to hit secret societies, for I belong to several, and am 
glad to testify to the nobility of their teaching and the 
unselfishness of their deeds. But I have neither met 
any thinking society man who would dare to say that 
the lodge can take the place of the church. At the 
[21 1 ] 


The Glory of His Robe 

very best it supplements the work of that Divine insti¬ 
tution. But isn’t it strange that some fellows, when 
they are crowded with engagements during the week, 
are apt to sacrifice the prayer meeting rather than the 
lodge. I wonder if the Lord’s calf didn’t get it in the 
neck that time. 

I have noticed also that when some men are pros¬ 
pering in business they find that the Lord’s calf is not 
so fortunate. You see they have not time to look 
after her, and you know there does come a time when 
poor old Mooley cannot do it all. Do you not remem¬ 
ber when, as a boy, you had to hold the milk pail 
while the calf drank? Do you not remember her moo¬ 
ing at the bars? Don’t you remember your youthful 
rage when she “bunted” and the milk filled your eyes 
and covered your hair, and, worst of all, splashed onto 
a new necktie which cost twenty-five cents, a sum not 
to be despised in those hard times? Yes, the calf had 
to be fed. She must be looked after, even if boyish 
finery did suffer, and boyish temper was made keen 
by the “cussedness” of that “critter.” And the Lord’s 
calf needs looking after. Some men find it a great trial 
to keep up the Sunday school class that they promised 
to teach, to attend the church managers’ meeting, to be 
on hand to usher on the Lord’s Day, in fact, to fill any 
office at all in the church. “Why, confound it all! 
Don’t you see that I’m covered with milk from head 
to foot feeding my own calf? I’m tired of the cattle 
business. I’ll feed no more calves. Let the Lord’s 
calf moo for somebody else, or else starve to death!” 
Poor calf! 


[212] 


The Lord's Calf 

How the family altar suffers from this spirit! How 
easy it is to find excuses for neglecting duty! But 
the commonest excuse of all is lack of time. I am per¬ 
fectly aware that there is something in that excuse, 
for we are living in a strenuous age, and it is almost 
impossible to gather the family before the father has 
to go out in the morning. But what about the evening, 
immediately after the meal? Why not read a few 
verses, lead briefly, and have the whole family join in 
the Lord’s Prayer? Why not have another season of 
family worship on the Sabbath morning, when singing 
might be introduced, and the service be a little longer ? 
What this country needs is family religion. A re¬ 
turned chaplain says that he never knew a lad to for¬ 
get decency and honour who had a Christian home and 
a Sunday School behind him. It is remarkable what 
the memory of home religion does for a youth. But, 
my friend, I wonder if you are letting the Lord’s calf 
starve to death. 

And yet was the farmer right in designating one 
calf as the Lord’s? Were not both the Lord’s? Are 
we not stewards? Does anything belong to us abso¬ 
lutely? Have we not to give account of not simply 
one but both calves ? There was a man once, who was 
very proud of his possessions, and, looking ahead, saw 
great wealth coming his way. He had forgotten God 
and God’s interests. “And the Lord said, Thou fool, 
this night thy soul shall be required of thee; then whose 
shall those things be which thou hast provided?” 
Would it not be a very embarrassing situation to ex¬ 
plain that, in our anxiety for the welfare of our calf, 

[213] 


The Glory of His Robe 

we had let its twin die, or that we had forgotten that 
both calves belong to God, and that we must face the 
reckoning? My little parable, in a single sentence, 
amounts to just this: Do not forget that God has as 
great interests involved as you have; and make your 
life count, so that He may not lose through the man¬ 
ner in which you conduct your business and His. 


[214] 


XL 


* 


SPEAK TO YOUR MINISTER 


HE other day a minister, who took it for granted 



l that I have a warm place in my heart for the 
men of the cloth, hinted that it might be well to discuss 
the subject which is at the head of this chapter. Im¬ 
mediately I recalled a story concerning a man, whom 
I knew in the days of my youth. He had been an im¬ 
portant individual in the community many years be¬ 
fore I knew him—a member of the old Parliament of 
Canada, before Confederation. He had, however, 
fallen upon evil days, and people had forgotten his 
former greatness. However, he had not, and, on every 
occasion on which he could push himself into promi¬ 
nence, he did so. The church which he attended was 
holding anniversary services one Sabbath, and Bro. 
Smith was present. The officiating minister was a 
stranger who knew not Joseph, but, as soon as he de¬ 
scended from the rostrum, he was met by Smith, ex- 
M.P. “Bro. Jones, Bro. Smith.” The visiting cleric 
looked the brother over, sized up his general character 
at a glance, and asked, “Brother Smith, are you a 
member of this church?” “W-e-1-1, no,” replied the 
truthful Smith. “Then are you one of the Lord’s poor, 
or are you one of the devil’s poor, or are you the poor 
devil?” I heard Smith say that he was never so “flab- 


[215] 


The Glory of His Robe 

bergasted” in his life. “One of the Lord’s poor, or 
one of the devil’s poor, or the poor devil? Men, I 
have been thinking over it all week, and ’pon my word 
I can’t answer that question yet.” Now, I do not de¬ 
sire to get anybody into the position of Smith, ex-M.P. 
but I do wish to emphasise the importance of speaking 
to your minister. 

One day a while ago I was talking to a man who 
told me that he had no use for his minister. “Why?” 
said I. “He never knows me on the street.” “Well, 
now,” I said, “that is too bad. How often do you 
go to church?” “Oh, I go pretty often.” “How 
often have you gone during the last six months?” 
“Let me see. One-two-three, f-o-u-r times, I t-h-i-nk.” 
“Of course, when you did go you spoke to the minis¬ 
ter, and asked him to call around at your house when 
it was convenient?” “No.” “And you have been four 
times to church in six months, have never introduced 
yourself to the minister, and yet you expect him to 
know you whenever he meets you on the street—do 
you think that is fair to the minister? Do you re¬ 
member that the minister has to recall perhaps one or 
two or three thousand faces, where you have to re¬ 
call only the minister’s? And do you forget that often, 
when you go down street, your wits are wool-gather¬ 
ing, and you can pass your own wife without notice? 
Why blame the poor minister for being ‘big feeling, 
ashamed to notice a poor man on the street,’ when the 
truth is he didn’t know you, or else was thinking of 
something else at the time you crossed his line of 
vision?” There are a good many ministers who suf- 
[216] 


Speak to Your Minister 

fer from petty criticism, just because people forget 
that it is easier to remember one face than a thou¬ 
sand. 

A minister tells a story concerning his advent to a 
new parish. A few days after his arrival, he was pass¬ 
ing along the street when a small boy called him by 
his name. The minister stopped and chatted with the 
young Canadian. He asked him how he knew who 
he was. “Why,” said the little fellow, “you are my 
minister.” “What is your name, my lad?” So the 
youngster told him. “Now,” said the minister, “I 
may forget your name and your face, for I have to 
remember a great many little boys in this town, but you 
will not forget me so easily; for, Johnnie, I am the 
only man on this street that wears this kind of a col¬ 
lar. Always speak to me if I do not speak to you.” 
“Huh,” said Johnnie, “the dog collar don’t cut no ice. 
I know you because you’re my minister. And you 
bet your boots, Fll speak to you, and” (very earnestly) 
“I’ll tell you my name every time; because you know, 
Mr. Minister, my Dad felt my chin last night, and he 
says my whiskers is growing fast, and I won’t look 
like this very long; and I couldn’t expect you to know 
me, when I have a big long beard.” Now that minis¬ 
ter never forgot that boy. The potentialities of that 
chin caused the preacher to recall the rest of the face. 

Then if you desire a special visit from the minister, 
tell him so. He is generally a very good mind-reader; 
yet you know that sometimes you may want him to 
come, but your wife is hardly prepared for company. 
I remember great preparations made, when I was a 
[217] 


The Glory of His Robe 

boy, for the visit of the minister. Perhaps I will tell 
you about them sometime, but just now we are con¬ 
cerned with the minister who is living' to-day. You 
cannot expect him to know by intuition that you are 
sick; and yet, when he happens to make a friendly 
call, not knowing the evil that has befallen you, you 
look very hurt and say: “Pastor, Pve been sick a week, 
and you have never called.” Let me tell you about a 
man, in one of the rural communities* who acted 
somewhat like that towards his pastor. When the sky 
pilot called, he said that he felt very much aggrieved 
for the minister did not seem to care whether he lived 
or died. The minister, in astonishment, replied, that 
as the aforesaid member lived three miles from the 
village, he had not heard of his illness. “But you 
have a phone/’ he said, “why did you not call me?” 
“Well,” replied Groucher, “your predecessor always 
called here at least once a week.” That put the Sky 
Pilot upon his mettle, and righteous indignation into 
his soul, “Did you send for the doctor when you fell 
sick this time?” “Oh, yes.” “Rather expensive 
bringing him out here, isn’t it?” Groucher looked 
reminiscent. “Four dollars a visit,” he replied, in dole¬ 
ful voice. “By the way,” said Sky Pilot, “how much 
do you subscribe towards the church?” For the first 
time since the pneumonia struck him, Groucher took a 
full breath, and his chest filled out like a turkey gob¬ 
bler’s. “Fifteen cents a week,” was his proud boast. 
Then the man of God caused that chest to flatten as 
if it were a punctured balloon. “Don’t you think that 
you expect a good deal of me for fifteen cents?” 

[218] 


Speak to Your Minister 

Well, there are other folks who grumble because 
the preaching is not very profitable. It does not meet 
their needs. But, although the pastor exists for the 
very purpose of helping them, they never even hint to 
him that they have intellectual or spiritual problems 
that they are anxious to have solved. Most ministers, 
too, have office hours, when they are eager to meet 
people, who desire what was called, in my younger 
days, “spiritual conversation.” And country parsons 
keep open house, and are ready to welcome, at any 
time, all who desire to have a friendly chat over soul- 
difficulties. Do not keep your troubles bottled up in 
your soul. Speak to your minister. I remember a 
minister who told that, when he was a student on his 
second summer field, he was visiting a home, and, at 
the evening meal, was introduced to a boarder whose 
face strangely interested him. After supper was over, 
the young man and he were left for a few minutes 
alone. Remembering his vocation, the young cleric 
asked the other young man, “Are you a Christian?” 
He was surprised to see the young fellow burst into 
tears, and hear amidst sobs: “I have been waiting for 
three months for somebody to ask me that question.” 
That little parlour with its hair wreaths and woollen 
flowers was glorified that night, for a soul found peace 
with God there, and a young preacher tasted the joy 
of soul-winning. But how many people would find 
relief so much sooner if they would only speak to 
their minister, not that he is the only one who can 
direct to Christ, but he is perhaps the most accessible. 

One word in conclusion. Remember that the minis- 

[219] 


The Glory of His Robe 

ter needs a word of encouragement like everybody else. 
If he has helped you let him know it. For three years, 
an editor once told me, there was a department in his 
paper containing matter of a special character, written 
by a gentleman of great ability. During all these 
years there never came to the office a single word of 
appreciation; but just as soon as the department was 
dropped folks began to place bouquets upon the coffin. 
Oh, the pity of it! And ministers have the same ex¬ 
perience. They get down into the Slough of Despond. 
The best cure for minister’s “blue Monday” is a 
cheery note from some soul, who bears testimony to 
“the good the sermon did me yesterday.” Speak to 
your minister! 


XLI 


WHY I GO TO CHURCH 


HERE is a story told respecting the publisher of 



l a yellow journal in New York, who was anxious 
to obtain a share of church advertising. He sent a 
solicitor to the ministers of various churches to ask 
for patronage; but the canvasser could get none be¬ 
cause his paper was not read by churchgoers. When 
this report was carried back to the publisher, he said: 
“Go back to them and say, Tor whom do you adver¬ 
tise—those with whom you already do business, or 
those you want to do business with ?’ ” That got them 
all. I fancy, however, that those preachers would have 
to write pretty attractive “ads,” if they received much 
of a return from advertising in a yellow journal. In 
fact, many a church is in need of the aid of an adver¬ 
tising expert to inform the public just what claim she 
has upon the attention of the community. Well writ¬ 
ten and attractive advertising, when backed by an or¬ 
ganisation which “delivers the goods,” does much to 
accomplish church success. This Meditation keeps in 
mind the fact that many a religious advertisement fails 
to attract readers, and that this is just a little unpreten¬ 
tious talk concerning churchgoing. 

Churchgoing is a habit of mine. I started pretty 
young; for I am a minister’s son, and ministers’ chil- 


[221] 


The Glory of His Robe 

dren are expected to be very exemplary in conduct. 
Thus it is that I was carried to church when I was but 
a few weeks old, and I have been going there ever 
since. I am told that there was a time in my youthful 
days when my mother used to carry me out of the 
sacred edifice for the purpose of impressing upon a 
certain part of my anatomy, which is popularly re¬ 
garded as having a very close connection with juvenile 
memory, the fact that even a minister’s son must be¬ 
have in the house of God. At this late date I do not 
remember very clearly those striking incidents; but I 
do have very vivid recollections of toddling off to serv¬ 
ice, with a half-penny closely clutched in my wee hand, 
and a clean handkerchief, with a peppermint tied in 
one corner for consumption during sermon time, se¬ 
curely tucked away in my pocket. I was off to church. 
Everybody could see it by my shining morning face. 
And do you know, after all these years, I haven’t got 
out of the habit of giving my face a little extra atten¬ 
tion on Sabbath morning, donning my good suit and 
putting a candy in my pocket? I think that I get as 
much satisfaction out of that journey to the house of 
God as I did when I was a boy. 

Then a good many of my friends attend church serv¬ 
ice. My youthful training led me to value the friend¬ 
ship of Christian people. I have found them the very 
best folks that any community holds. If any one 
should be an authority upon “mean shysters” and 
hypocrites, it is the minister’s son; for he generally 
knows the men who will not attend service, because 
they say that the preaching is too personal. He can 
[222] 


Why I Go to Church 

also tell you about the man who declares that he is 
going to starve the minister out because he cannot get 
his own way in regard to some church matter. Yes, 
he can tell a good many things that would make some 
folks shake their heads and mournfully declare that 
the world is certainly going to the dogs, and that the 
church is travelling after it just as fast as she can. But 
this minister’s son writes this statement in cold type: 
“If you want to mix with good people, you had better 
go to church. You will find a larger percentage of 
good people amongst church attenders than anywhere 
else.” Because I like good company, I go to church. 

The church service meets a want in my soul. The 
devout man can find God anywhere; yet I fancy that 
the majority of men are like myself—they find a neces¬ 
sity for comradeship in worship. I have looked upon 
mountains, woods, leaping cataracts and the far-reach¬ 
ing sea, and my soul has been hushed into reverence; 
but when I bend the knee in company with other 
worshippers, I find myself in an atmosphere that is 
conducive to a reverence that is deeper far than nature 
ever arouses. When I lift my heart in company with 
others to the Heavenly Father, I find that sympathy 
for my fellow-man is very closely related to fellowship 
with God. I reach out my hand to find the hand of a 
brother, and understand what Jesus meant when He 
said: “Where two or three are gathered together in 
My name, there am I in the midst.” I do not condemn 
the man who finds God in nature. I agree with him 
that God ought to be worshipped by the man who sees 
Him manifested in His works. All that I am saying is 

[223] 


The Glory of His Robe 

that I need more than nature to inspire me to the high¬ 
est reverence—I need fellow-worshippers. 

The church service does me good. The singing lifts 
me. The prayers have a fashion of searching my soul. 
Often I find myself saying in my heart: “How beau¬ 
tifully the pastor has expressed my desire.” I look 
upon the good men who gather the offering, and re¬ 
member their fidelity to the cause of Christ. The hush 
of the Master’s presence is upon my spirit. Then 
comes the sermon. I shall not tell you much about 
that. I shall just say that it is good preaching, and 
exalts Jesus Christ, and ought to help the worshippers. 
I am not glorifying preaching just now. Very often I 
can hardly tell just what there is in the service to in¬ 
spire my soul; but I do know that there is a cumula¬ 
tive impression that is very wholesome. 

Would you think it egotistic if I say that I go to 
church because I have a notion that the Lord Jesus 
needs me there? I am a professing Christian. The 
Church is a Divine institution, founded for the pur¬ 
pose of extending Christ’s Kingdom in the world. I 
am interested in seeing that purpose carried out. I 
want folks to know that I am no slacker. There are 
some kinds of religious advertising that are objection¬ 
able; but the regular, devout attendance upon church 
service soon marks out a man as a follower of Christ. 
So I go to church. There are a great many other 
reasons for spending my Sabbaths in this way; but I 
have given a sufficient answer to the question. Why 
do you go to church? Just meditate upon this: Are 
you losing anything by non-attendance? Are your 
[224] 


Why I Go to Church 

children likely to miss the wholesome influence which 
regular church attendance exerted over your life? 
Think things through, and I fancy that you will not 
only go to church, but will become a most enthusiastic 
subscriber to the Forward Movement. 


[225] 


XLII 


“i HAD BETTER BE A DOOR-KEEPER ,, 

A NEGRO in Philadelphia requested his employer 
to release him so that he could go South. “What 
do you want to go for, Lafayette?” “Cos I’se called 
to a church down dar.” “Called to a church? What 
are you going to be?” “I’se going to be sumfin. I 
dunno whedder I be de pasture, or de sextant, or de 
vesture man, but Pse going to be sumfin.” That darky 
had a little of the spirit of the Psalmist who exclaimed, 
“I had rather be a door-keeper in the house of my God 
than to dwell in the tents of wickedness.” The hum¬ 
blest position had a mighty attraction for the servant 
of Jehovah. He would rather open the doors for 
others, stand on the threshold all the day long getting 
only an occasional peep inside, than to be debarred 
from the house of the Lord. When I was a wee laddie 
in Scotland, I was trained to go to church. In the 
Chapel to which I was taken, there was placed in the 
entry a table, and on that table were two plates to re¬ 
ceive the offerings of the worshippers. At either end 
of the table sat a venerable Church officer. It was 
with great respect that I used to approach these old 
men and lay my half-penny on the plate to be greeted 
by: “That’s richt, laddie,” or “Ye’re yir faither’s lad¬ 
die. One day yir pow wull wag in a poopit.” Ever 
[226] 


“I Had Better Be a Door-Keeper” 

since that I have had a great deal of respect for the 
door-keeper in the House of the Lord. When later in 
life I was brought to Canada, I did not appreciate the 
little velvet bags which were attached to long wooden 
handles and shoved under the nose of the worshipper 
as he sat in the pew. It always seemed to me that the 
glory of the big copper was completely eclipsed, when 
that miserable little bag swallowed it up. 

But I have never lost my admiration for the door¬ 
keeper. When I was a half-grown laddie, I used to 
hang about the door of the church so much that my 
father had a private interview with me respecting my 
preference for the church-vestibule, when, as a minis¬ 
ter’s son, I should be sitting sedately in the minister’s 
pew. But, in spite of that conference with my minis¬ 
terial father, I still admire the door-keeper of the 
Lord’s house and could wish myself with him. In my 
mind the door-keeper is a most important official in 
connection with the house of worship. 

He is the man who is present early and sees to it that 
the temperature is just right, the audience room well 
aired, and the hymn-books placed ready for the use of 
strangers. He never misses the service. Others may 
go away over Sabbath, may visit other churches, may 
feel that they need a rest upon the Lord’s day—“men 
may come and men may go,” but the church usher is 
always on the job. His fidelity is an inspiration to 
many a soul who has found it a little difficult to be 
present on a rainy or snowy morning. Is it not good, 
when you dodge into the vestibule out of the rain, 
just to find the usher standing in his usual place, look- 
[227] 


The Glory of His Robe 

ing as if it were the joy of his life to come to church 
on nasty mornings? 

Have you ever thought that the reputation of a con¬ 
gregation in respect of friendliness is dependent upon 
the good brother who stands at the church door? You 
seldom behold sour, forbidding-looking individuals 
charged with the duty of welcoming folks to the house 
of worship. I am not ready to declare that church 
ushers are noted for their beauty; but I fancy that I 
am not transgressing the bounds of truth when I say 
that they possess a personal attractiveness that many 
an individual would give a great deal to own. Have 
you not noted how the usher’s face lights up when 
you enter the vestibule and he sees that you are a 
stranger? Can any one give the glad hand like he? 
Before he has finished that handshake you feel as 
though you have known him all your days. There 
may not be another soul in the building with whom 
you are acquainted, but the door-keeper will soon get 
you into touch with friends. Doesn’t he? “You do 
not know our pastor? If you just linger for a little 
while after service I shall be glad to introduce you.” 
“I am putting you in Brother Goodman’s pew. What 
is your name, I should like you to meet him. I’m sure 
you will like him.” Before you have been two min¬ 
utes in the building that sunny-faced usher has man¬ 
aged to get a lot of information out of you, and has 
started a glow in your heart that remains all the rest 
of the week. 

And when you get seated comfortably in the pew 
you see the same usher placing a shabbily dressed 
[228] 


“I Had Better Be a Door-Keeper” 

woman in one of the best seats in the house, and you 
hear the timid whisper: “Oh, thank you so much. I 
am a little deaf, you know.” And you hear him say: 
“Let me take you to another pew where there is an 
acousticon.” In spite of protests he places her in 
conditions where she will be sure to hear, and you 
turn up the Epistle of James just to see how well the 
usher remembers the apostolic instruction to ushers: 
“My brethren, hold not the faith of our Lord Jesus 
Christ, the Lord of glory, with respect to persons. 
For, if there come into your synagogue a man with a 
gold ring, in fine clothing, and there come in also a 
poor man in vile clothing; and ye have regard to him 
that weareth the fine clothing, and say, ‘Sit thou here in 
a good place’; and ye say to the poor man, ‘Stand 
thou there/ or ‘sit under my footstool’; are ye not 
divided in your own mind, and become judges with 
evil thoughts?” And that kindly Christian act of that 
pleasant-faced usher makes you feel that here is a 
church which does not place undue emphasis upon the 
mighty dollar. 

When the service is over the usher lingers just to 
speed you on your way. “I hope that you found the 
service helpful, and that you will come again.” Did 
you not? The very welcome of the door-keeper was 
so kind, so human, so Christian, that long before the 
choir sang or the minister delivered his message, you 
were worshipping in an atmosphere of Christian 
brotherliness. It did you good. It helped to keep 
your faith in humanity and in the church. It brought 
you into the very presence of your Master. And you 
[229] 


The Glory of His Robe 

are going again, and hope to follow the same usher 
down the aisle; but this time you want an introduction 
to the minister, for you think that you shall feel at 
home in that church. 


[230] 


XLIII 


THE RE-BIRTH OF RELIGIOUS ENTHUSIASM 

Y OUR HONOUR,” said the policeman to the 
judge as he preferred a complaint against a col¬ 
oured man, “this man was running up and down the 
Mill River road, waving his arms and otherwise raising 
the mischief, at half-past one in the morning. The 
people of that district complained, and they had a per¬ 
fect right to.” The judge frowned at Rasmus, who 
didn’t seem to be particularly worried. “What do you 
mean by such unbecoming conduct?” his Honour de¬ 
manded. “Religion, jedge,” was the response. “Re¬ 
ligion ! Are you a Holy Roller or something like that ? 
I have got religion, Rasmus, but I don’t get up at 
midnight and tell everybody about it.” “Dat’s jes the 
diffunce, jedge. I ain’t ershamed ob mine.” Making 
all due allowance for the coloured brother’s religious 
excesses, did he not strike the weak point in a great 
deal of the religious life of to-day? Are we not afraid 
to be enthusiastically out and out for Him who died 
for us? 

The religious beliefs which are proclaimed enthu¬ 
siastically usually march forward triumphantly. The 
Church which the risen Christ condemns most awfully 
is that of Laodicea—“Because thou art lukewarm, and 
neither hot nor cold, I will spew thee out of my 

[231] 


The Qlory of His Robe 

mouth.” A dead Church has no message, and every¬ 
body is aware of the fact; but a lukewarm Church pro¬ 
fesses to declare the evangel, yet there is no convic¬ 
tion, no passion, no urgency in the note that is sounded. 
It is, according to the virile colloquialism of to-day, 
“a false alarm.” 

There are many indications that the churches of 
Canada are awakening to the danger of religious luke¬ 
warmness. We are hearing a good deal respecting the 
Forward Movement; and, while some people seem to 
be of the opinion that that great inter-church move¬ 
ment has been inaugurated simply to replenish coffers 
which had become empty during the years of war, the 
main purpose, as I understand it, is to deepen spir¬ 
itual life, and as a consequence to arouse religious 
enthusiasm. The financial side of the work is regarded 
as dependent upon a deeper consecration to the Great 
Head of the Church. Another movement has been 
begun which is international in character. It aims at 
a revival of the old “Watch Night Meeting,” in which 
the congregation met to watch the old year out and to 
welcome the new year in. In the past the memories 
and the hopes that crowd upon the soul at such an 
hour were found to be conducive to seriousness in 
respect to Christian duty. It is hoped that the good 
old custom of watching out the old year will be re¬ 
vived in the churches, and that much blessing may re¬ 
sult as a consequence of re-consecration to Christ. An 
awakened interest in evangelism is also amongst the 
indications that the churches are rousing themselves 
to the danger of religious tepidity. Prayer also is made 

[232] 


The Re-Birth of Religious Enthusiasm 

unceasingly unto God by many a soul that longs for a 
great triumph of the kingdom of Christ after these 
years of sorrow and anguish due to the war. 

Religious enthusiasm begins with the individual. 
It was always so. “Come and hear, all ye that fear 
Cod, and I will declare what He hath done for my 
soul,” says the Psalmist. The record respecting early 
Church is, “Every day in the temple, and at home they 
ceased not to teach and to preach Jesus as the Christ.” 
Sherwood Eddy says that one of the missionaries to 
Korea testifies that about one hundred per cent, of 
the Christian converts witness for Christ. The people 
try to tell the good news to all they meet. The churches 
in that country show in one year 660 converts for 
each ordained man. Think of the enthusiasm that 
backs such a herald of the gospel. Every Christian in 
the community zealous for his Saviour—that is the 
secret of such marvellous success. 

It appears to me that the deeper the religious expe¬ 
rience through which the individual passes the greater 
will be his devotion to his Lord. We find no difficulty 
in understanding that a dweller in a non-Christian land 
may regard the wonderful story of redeeming love as 
good news, and may be so impressed by it as to have 
an irresistible impulse to tell it; but there are many 
souls dwelling in Christian lands who have been ac¬ 
quainted with the old, old story from childhood, whom 
the wonder of Divine interest has lost its power to 
surprise. That is due to two things. First, the preach¬ 
ing of the past few years has emphasised the Divine 
Fatherhood, and there has been a corresponding les- 


The Glory of His Robe 

sening of emphasis upon the doctrine of sin. The re¬ 
sult has been that the marvel of the Divine forgiveness 
does not break with all its heart-melting power upon 
the soul. It was the wonder of God’s great love that 
created enthusiasm in the days of old, and that love 
was seen most clearly when contrasted with human 
guilt. The other reason for the wane of religious en¬ 
thusiasm is that we are living in an age in which medi¬ 
tation is fast becoming a lost art, “While I was musing 
the fire burned. Then spake I with my tongue.” 

Three elements enter into real religious enthusiasm, 
viz., memory, gratitude, and the irresistible impulse to 
serve. It seems to me that memory is the basis of 
gratitude and service. What is called a crisis-conver¬ 
sion is a great event from which to date gratitude and 
service. The Apostle Paul went back to his conver¬ 
sion again and again. Some of the greatest leaders 
which Christianity has ever had were not ashamed to 
recall the hour when they settled affairs with their 
Lord, and felt that old things had passed away and 
all things had become new. I recognise that God has 
many ways of dealing with the human soul. I find 
the Scriptures making mention of some who were sanc¬ 
tified from birth; yet, as far as the records establish a 
precedent, I am satisfied that the normal experience of 
every follower of Jesus Christ was of an hour when 
the burden of guilt oppressed the soul in a fashion up 
to that time unknown, and when the individual threw 
himself upon the Divine mercy pleading that, for the 
sake of Jesus Christ, God would pardon his iniquity. 
The inspired records tell of relief of mind, of joy of 

[234] 


The Re-Birth of Religious Enthusiasm 

heart, of the impulse to tell others of that wonderful 
sense of forgiveness, and of an inner witness that the 
erstwhile burdened one knew himself to be a child of 
God. Moreover, these experiences have been repeated 
in the souls of untold numbers of men and women 
since Apostolic days. 

The fact is that Christian enthusiasm must hark 
back to a great personal experience of the saving power 
of the Son of God. That was the secret of the Apostle 
Paul's Christian passion. How he loved to think of 
Him “who loved me and gave Himself up for me.” 
The memory of the hour when there broke upon his 
understanding the marvel, the tenderness, the lavish¬ 
ness of the Divine sacrifice for him transformed him 
into an ardent lover of Jesus Christ. And his love for 
Him died not down; for he dwelt with Him, and oft 
meditated upon the wonder of the pity that sent his 
Saviour from heaven’s glory to Calvary’s agony and 
death. 


[235] 


XLIV 


IN THE CLOUDY AND DARK DAY 

S I write, the East wind is blowing, the snow is 



melting and the damp atmosphere searches your 
very marrow. This is the sort of day when you do 
not expect to get a very cheery message even in the 
newspaper; for it affects a writer as it does a preacher. 
You are very apt to receive a much cheerier message 
when the skies are bright than when the message is 
delivered “in a dark and cloudy day.” A very famous 
minister was asked by a certain pessimistic friend, who 
could not understand the optimism of the clerical 
brother, if he never doubted his soul's salvation. 
“Yes,” was the reply. “I generally do when the East 
wind is blowing.” It is wonderful how the soul is in¬ 
fluenced by our physical condition. Did you ever 
think that possibly one of the elements that enter into 
the enjoyment of heaven, will be perfect physical 
health ? 

Every one has his cloudy and dark days. Some peo¬ 
ple have more of them than is necessary. They ap¬ 
pear to love the clouds and to welcome the darkness. 
They never seem to have heard the exhortation: “Re¬ 
joice in the Lord always. Again I say unto you, Re¬ 
joice.” But, on the other hand, there are people who 
are simply overwhelmed by their misfortunes, and can- 


In the Cloudy and Dark Day 

not behold a ray of light piercing the awful gloom that 
has come down upon their souls. It is to people like 
them that my message is addressed to-day. Before I 
rose this morning two expressions in the one hundred 
and seventh Psalm were singing in my heart: '‘They 
wandered in the wilderness in a solitary way. . . . He 
led them also by a right way.” 

These solitary ways, these wanderings, how they 
break the heart! For some of my readers this has 
been a hard year. The sorrow and loneliness of it 
have been inexpressible, for the heart is continually 
turning to a grave in France, which you have never 
seen, but which holds the form of one who was brave 
and true even unto death. And since the boy “went 
West” you have been wandering in a solitary way. 
Yes, that is true; but remember that God does not 
leave you there. Just read the Psalm and you will find: 
“Then they cried unto the Lord in their trouble, and 
He delivered them out of their distresses. He led 
them also by a right way.” The soul that cries upon 
God is very likely to discover some things that are a 
perfect revelation to him. 

He will discover that the Lord has not forgotten 
him. There are some folks who leap to the conclu¬ 
sion, when sickness or disaster or bereavement comes 
upon them, that either God has forgotten them or that 
He is dealing very harshly with them. I must con¬ 
fess that there are many things that I cannot explain. 
The mystery of sorrow and suffering remains very 
largely a mystery to me, not because I have not passed 
through trial and suffering, but simply because I am 

[237] 


The Glory of His Robe 

not ready with an explanation that will fit all cases. I 
dare not assume that all suffering comes as punishment, 
for then I should be forced to include my Lord 
amongst those who had to suffer because of personal 
guilt. No! There is not much light upon the problem 
by assuming that suffering is always an evidence of 
personal sin. 

I have a very dear friend who is in deep trouble. 
He is suffering from cancer. His son died a couple 
of weeks ago, a brilliant young man with bright pros¬ 
pects. A daughter has gone blind. As I think of that 
father and remember his godly life and his enthusiasm 
for the cause of Christ, and then recall his sorrows, 
I hesitate (and so will you) to say that they have come 
as punishment. There must be some other explanation 
of such experiences. Let me try to let a little beam of 
sunshine into a cloudy and dark day. 

Did you ever think that perhaps sorrow and suffer¬ 
ing come upon the soul for the sake of other people? 
Now do not throw this suggestion aside as unworthy 
of notice. Suffering is part of the soul’s equipment 
for service on behalf of others. Just recall the minis¬ 
ters whose sermons, really help you. They are the men 
who know, who have travelled the road which they de¬ 
scribe, who have gone down into the valley of suffer¬ 
ing and sorrow and who have come back with a heart 
of sympathy and a hand of help for other strugglers. 
Often I have heard young preachers criticised for in¬ 
effectual utterances when they were doing the best that 
they could. There are some experiences of life that 
are beyond the ken of a young minister. The awful 

[238] 


In the Cloudy and Dark Day 

blasts of temptation must beat upon his soul, the an¬ 
guish of sorrow bruise his spirit, the terrors of loneli¬ 
ness break his heart—yes, he will be an old man before 
he can sound the depths of human agony and bring 
back the declaration “I know.” In the meantime he 
must do the best that he can. Well, if that is true re¬ 
specting the minister, is it not likely to be true concern- 
ing you? Have you not a ministry? Have your ex¬ 
periences been for your own special benefit? I trow 
not. The cloudy and dark day came to fit you for 
better service. 

“The soul fainted in them. Then they cried unto 
the Lord in their trouble, and He delivered them out 
of their distresses. He led them also by a right way.” 
Loneliness and wandering are enough to cause the soul 
to faint, but God does not forget. The cry of the 
stricken one reaches His ears. He leads by a right 
way. He satisfieth the longing soul. Now go back 
to the very beginning of the Psalm. “His mercy en- 
dureth forever; let the redeemed of the Lord say so, 
whom He hath redeemed from the hand of the adver¬ 
sary.” Your troubles, and your experiences of God’s 
help granted in the midst of them, have some relation 
to other lives. Your heart has ached in order that you 
might learn the tender mission of healing other hearts. 

I wonder who helps a broken heart most. I knew a 
man once who had a little lad whom he nearly wor¬ 
shipped. But the laddie sickened and died, and the 
father seemed to get no comfort in the midst of his 
sorrow. Many hopes had died along with the little 
chap. Many tried to comfort the stricken man with- 

[239] 


The Glory of His Robe 

out avail. He could not shed a tear. At last there 
came a woman. She looked on the little waxen form 
lying in the coffin, and, taking the father by the hand, 
she said very simply: “I lost a little lad like him. I 
know how you feel.” It was then that the fountains 
of the great deep broke up. 

There are many lonely hearts just now. The soli¬ 
tary way has its compensations if you find God at the 
end of it, and permit Him to lead you by the right 
way. Then you will know sufficient concerning His 
tenderness and Fatherhood to enable you to cheer some¬ 
body else; and it will be true of you, as it was true of 
a preacher of whom I once heard, who had preached 
an unusually helpful sermon to stricken hearts: “That 
message was born out of the travail of his own soul.” 
One reason why you have walked the desert road is 
that you might know God better, and that you might 
give a helping hand to others to find Him who helped 
you. 


[240] 


XLV 


CURVATURE OF THE SOUL 

I HAVE always pitied the sufferer from spinal 
trouble. It not only brings misery to the patient 
but also grief to all his friends. Yet there is some¬ 
thing far worse than spinal curvature. A little lad, 
one of whose shoulders was higher than the other, was 
talking with a gentleman who was greatly impressed 
by the intelligence of the boy. The man’s sympathies 
were aroused as he thought of the handicap under 
which the laddie was starting life, and, as he held the 
little chap on his knee, he remarked: “It is too bad 
that your body is so crooked.” And the child-like an¬ 
swer came back: “My daddy says that there’s some¬ 
thing worse than a crooked back. He says that, if 
your soul is straight, God doesn’t mind the hump on 
your back.” Dear little lad, he was learning the great¬ 
est of all lessons—the greatest beauty is not physical, 
but moral. Often a crooked soul dwells in a house 
that is physically perfect. And you will frequently 
discover beautiful souls dwelling in bodies that seem 
to emphasise the supremacy of the spirit over the 
earthly house of this tabernacle. A crooked body is no 
evidence that its occupant is like unto the house in 
which he dwells. Nor is a physically perfect body any 
certification that a beautiful soul is housed therein. 

[24O 


The Glory of His Robe 

Curvature of the soul is far more common than 
curvature of the spine, and one of the strange things 
connected with the disease is that its victims are often 
unaware that there is anything the matter with them. 
In this they differ greatly from those who suffer from 
spinal curvature. 

Soul-crookedness is due to a variety of causes. The 
old theologians would tell you that all moral curvature 
is due to the operation of sin in the nature, and they 
were not far astray. We are all aware how indulgence 
in physical sins destroys the body, and some of us have 
witnessed the debasing influence of sinful physical in¬ 
dulgence upon the very soul. In this connection I need 
only mention such sins as impurity, drunkenness, addic¬ 
tion to drugs—these all testify to the fact that physical 
sins bear a terrible harvest both of bodily and moral 
suffering. And the suffering is not confined to the 
sinner himself. Often his friends suffer more than he; 
and, in many cases, he bequeaths to his children an en¬ 
tail of physical misery that at times leads them to 
question the wisdom and goodness of God, but which, 
after all, is only the outworking of the law that the 
iniquities of the fathers are visited upon the children 
to the third and fourth generation. A great deal of 
the misery of the world might have been averted if 
men were not so insistent that they have the right to 
please themselves independent of the interests of any 
one else, and even irrespective of generations yet un¬ 
born. 

The trend of sin is always downward. The boy, 
who is ready to lie about little things, will not be overly 
[242] 


Curvature of the Soul 

scrupulous when he has to meet the greater things of 
life, for truthfulness is largely a habit. In one of 
Thomas Nelson Page’s books one of his characters 
says: “I know that man. He is the greatest liar on 
earth. He has lost the power to tell the truth.” Covet¬ 
ousness has led many a soul to violate laws both human 
and divine. It has turned hearts naturally sympathetic 
into stone. It leads its victim to gauge success in terms 
of dollars. It esteems shameful possession as greater 
than honourable poverty. It is one of the most notable 
sins of our age. Ambition often, like Napolean, sacri¬ 
fices Josephine upon his altar. It is the maker of war, 
the desolator of homes, the widow’s and the orphan’s 
curse. The illegitimate love of power, which here we 
call ambition, has ruined many a soul. It was the curse 
of Wilhelm, and it is the curse of many a man not so 
notorious. 

But there are other souls whose crookedness is due 
not so much to sin as to toil and care. We sometimes 
smile when we are told that this is a sad world. We 
like the optimistic note. There are times, however, 
when we are forced to listen to the story of some one 
who feels that he has not been treated fairly, or into 
whose life have come cares that crush his soul and 
bruise his spirit and turn the sweet wine of life into 
vinegar. We can never smile over the attitude of a 
man who is ready to indict the present social order or 
God Himself as being responsible for all the miseries 
which he endures. We may not agree with him, but 
we pity him because his troubles have warped his na¬ 
ture. We feel that the burden has been too great for 

[243] 


The Glory of His Robe 

his spirit to bear, and thus he has joined the ranks of 
the grouchers. 

Others have suffered the loss of loved ones and their 
sorrowful experience has occasioned soul-curvature. 
How often you witness a kindly, generous, sympathetic 
soul changed into a bitter, self-centred kill-joy, whose 
very approach is dreaded by his friends. No one will 
dare to say that some of the sorrows of life are ex¬ 
ceedingly distressing, but no one should let his private 
griefs spoil the lives of others. There are too many 
gloomy, cranky individuals concerning whom folks say: 
‘He is a good man, but I am glad that I do not have 
to live with him. ,, 

It is a great thing to keep a young heart. Keep 
young! You do not need to invest in hair dye in order 
to do it. Expedients like that only lead others to pity 
the old man who is trying to give the impression that 
he is young. But take an interest in others. Be ready 
to smile when others are happy. Have at least one 
good laugh every day. It is wonderful what it will do 
for you. Then keep a song in your heart. Dirges are 
not very cheery. Discard the minor note. Remember 
your mercies. Make it a daily practice just to count 
up your reasons for thanksgiving, and with God’s help, 
endeavour to carry your burden like a man, and it is 
wonderful how that curvature will straighten out. 


[244] 


XLVI 


THE WONDER OF IT 

T HE soul that has gone through the experience 
which, for want of a better word, is popularly 
called conversion, is frequently overwhelmed by the 
wonder of it. In my early days, it was very common 
to hear religious experiences related in public, and, 
while at this distance it would seem that many of them 
were simply imitations of some outstanding testimony, 
there was sufficient originality in the declarations of 
say thirty or forty persons to impress the listener with 
the fact, that the wonder of the transaction in which 
the soul became conscious of a new relation to God 
was very real and transporting. I confess that I have 
always had the instinctive feeling, so characteristic of 
the nation which gave me birth, that some things are 
too sacred to be discussed with anybody and everybody. 
Yet I know that many men have an irresistible impulse 
to use the words of the Psalmist. “Come and hear, 
all ye that fear God, and I will declare what He hath 
done for my soul. ,, The wonder of what has tran¬ 
spired is so great that there is mighty relief in telling 
somebody else about it. 

Once I went to see an old man who was, as the 
Scotch say, “wearin’ awa’ to the land o' the leal.” He 
was extremely old. For something like seventy years 

[245] 


The Glory of His Robe 

he had been a member of the one church, and the whole 
community knew him as a follower of Jesus Christ. 
The afternoon I called to see him, he was very de¬ 
spondent; and it was evident that the reason for it 
was that the earthly house was becoming very frail. 
In order to lift his spirits I enquired: “Did you ever 
tell me what the Lord did for your soul down at the 
old River Church?” The tears dried as if by magic; 
the dear old face was full of eagerness; a hand was 
pushed out from the bed as if to hold me back. “Wait! 
Wait!!” the old man said. “Let me tell you what the 
Lord did for me over seventy years ago.” As he told 
it, it was a very thrilling story. When he had finished, 
I simply enquired: “Brother McConnell, if the Lord 
did all that for you so long ago, you are not afraid to 
trust Him now when you are so near the deep river, 
are you?” The old man’s face was transformed as 
he exclaimed, “My Blessed Saviour! I’d trust Him 
anywhere.” A day or two later he crossed the flood, 
and I doubt not that “all the open region was filled 
with horses and chariots, with trumpeters and pipers, 
with singers, and players on stringed instruments, to 
welcome him as he went up and entered in at the 
beautiful gate of the city.” 

The wonder of it has exhausted the religious vocabu¬ 
lary of saints in all ages. Behind that deathless choice, 
every one of them seems to be conscious that there is 
a supernatural power at work, and that, in the last 
analysis, God is the author of the mighty change which 
has occurred in the soul. In my young manhood, I 
was acquainted with a saintly old minister who had 
[246] 


The Wonder of It 

long retired from the active work of the ministry. At 
the communion service he used to sit at the table along 
with my father, who was pastor of the church. I 
can see that old man’s face yet as he would choose 
the closing hymn. It was generally Isaac Watts’ “How 
sweet and awful is the place.” I can hear the thrill 
in his voice, for, even down to old age, he was a beau¬ 
tiful singer: 

“Why was I made to hear Thy voice 
And enter while there’s room, 

While thousands make a wretched choice 
And rather starve than come? 

“ ’Twas the same love that spread the feast, 

That sweetly forced us in; 

Else we had still refused to taste 
And perished in our sin.” 

The wonder of it filled the old saint’s heart. It 
had not lost its soul-stirring power with the passing of 
the years. Do you know, I used to look upon that face, 
filled with a humble and adoring love, and think: “The 
heavenly choir will be glad to welcome him. He has 
a melodious voice, and he sings with the heart and 
understanding also.” 

The wonder of it stirs every heart that has met the 
great change. You learn these things as you talk with 
people who make a sort of confessor of you. Since 
I began to write these Meditations, I have heard from 
many individuals whom I have never met; and over 
and over again, they have sounded that note of won¬ 
dering joy which is so characteristic of the soul who 

[247] 


The Glory of His Robe 

has been redeemed by the precious blood. The marvel 
of that mighty crisis in the soul’s experience never loses 
its power over their minds and hearts. 

And the wonder of it stirs other people. One day I 
said to a merchant: ‘‘There is a revival meeting in the 
village church, is there not?” “Yes,” he replied. 
“How are things going?” I asked. “Well,” said he, 
“I should say first-rate. I’m not very religious myself, 
but I respect a religion which has some effect upon a 
man’s honesty. This revival’s making people honest. 
Since it started I have collected about six hundred 
dollars which I had written off to profit and loss. The 
folks may shout all they like, as far as I’m concerned, 
if they keep paying their debts. If that preacher needs 
any money to keep things going I’m right there with 
the goods; for he is a blessing to the whole village.” 
When I saw that the preacher belonged to a sect which 
did not stand well in the estimation of the public gen¬ 
erally you can understand that the wonder of the work 
that was going on under its auspices seemed the greater 
to that merchant. 

Many of my readers have read of the conversion 
of John Colby, a brother-in-law of Daniel Webster, 
the great American orator. It seems that Webster 
was the youngest child in the family, and that Colby 
had married his eldest half-sister. Thus there was a 
great difference in the ages of the two men. When 
Webster was an old man himself he journeyed to see 
Colby, for he had heard that he had made life’s great 
choice. This is what he said after the visit: 

“I should like to know what the enemies of religion 
[248] 


The Wonder of It 

would say to John Colby’s conversion. There was a 
man as unlikely, humanly speaking, to become a Chris¬ 
tian as any man I ever saw. He was reckless, heed¬ 
less, impious, never attended church, never experienced 
the good influence of associating with religious people. 
Here he has been living on in that reckless way until 
he has got to be an old man—until a period of life 
when you naturally would not expect his habits to 
change; and yet he has been brought into that condi¬ 
tion in which we have seen him to-day—a penitent, 
trusting, humble believer. Whatever people may say, 
nothing can convince me that anything short of the 
grace of Almighty God could make such a change as 
I, with my own eyes, have witnessed in the life of 
John Colby.” Later Webster met one of his friends, 
John Taylor, and addressed him thus: “Well, John 
Taylor, miracles happen in these later days as well as 
in the days of old.” “What now, squire?” asked Tay¬ 
lor. “Why, John Colby has become a Christian. If 
that is not a miracle what is?” 

There is not space at my disposal for the further 
discussion of the wonder of the experience concern¬ 
ing which we have been meditating. The subjects of 
it, as well as those who are personally quite untouched 
by the marvellous transaction, unite in declaring that 
the Workman throughout it all is none other than 
God Himself. 


[249] 


XLVII 


OUR LOAD-LIMIT 

S AMUEL PLIMSOLL, the sailors’ friend, was a 
coal merchant, who, in 1868, was elected to repre¬ 
sent Derby in the British House of Commons. His 
severe indictment of ship-owners led in 1876 to the 
passing of the Merchant Shipping Act, which em¬ 
powered the Board of Trade to detain any vessel 
deemed unsafe, restricted the amount of cargo, and 
rendered compulsory on every ship a mark (known as 
the Plimsoll mark), indicating the maximum load-line. 
Previous to his day, many a poor sailor was sent out 
in some miserable old tub which soon went to the bot¬ 
tom, being expedited thereunto, according to popular 
belief, by the weight of many and various insurance 
risks upon the ancient craft. Britain’s reputation as a 
sea power was being ruined, because a few individuals, 
for the sake of gold, were ready to send to their 
deaths the brave fellows who “do business in great 
waters.” The Merchant Shipping Act was aimed at 
all such persons, as well as against some others who, 
in their eagerness to obtain large returns from a vessel, 
so grossly overloaded her that the voyage was attended 
“with much loss not only of the lading and the ship, 
but also of the lives” of the seamen. The Plimsoll 
mark was established to indicate the maximum load 
[250] 


Our Load-Limit 

that a particular vessel may carry, and every British 
port warden sees to it that it is not exceeded. No mat¬ 
ter under how great load a ship may stagger into a 
British port, the warden sees to it that she is not per¬ 
mitted to stagger out of it. She carries her load as 
only British ships manned by British sailors carry a 
burden—with joyous exhilaration. 

I have been thinking that we need a Plimsoll mark 
in every life. There is a limit beyond which we ought 
not to go. Sometimes we do not find that out until 
the burden that we are carrying causes our little craft 
to touch the rocks. Sometimes, however, we are sur¬ 
prised to discover that our best friends do not regard 
our little boat as safe as we, in our pride, had imagined 
it. That is the hour to have our ship re-surveyed and 
have the Plimsoll mark placed where there is no ques¬ 
tion regarding its correctness. 

Many a man is carrying a burden that is quite 
beyond his physical strength. He has great joy in his 
work, for real work has always the element of glad¬ 
ness in it. He is helping others by means of his daily 
task; yet his burden is so great that each day he draws 
a little upon his reserve, until at last it is exhausted. 
He is down and out. Oh, if he had had a Plimsoll 
mark to guide him! He might have escaped that 
breakdown—that nervous collapse. Every medical 
practitioner can tell of men and women, who have 
tried to sail the stormy sea of life, with a big cargo 
in a very creaky hull, with the inevitable consequence 
of much damage to lading and ship. I have listened to 
some of these reminiscences myself, and have to admit 

[251] 


The Glory of His Robe 

that, for a good many years, my craft had no Plimsoll 
line. I have one now. A medical port-warden branded 
it in. He expects it to stay there and to be observed 
religiously. 

The majority of folks have to determine their own 
Plimsoll mark. They have to learn by experience just 
what load they can carry. “Yes, I have slackened a 
little in my housework/’ said an energetic woman, 
who pushed her housekeeping to the limit of endur¬ 
ance and strength. “I have found that I cannot wash, 
iron and be a Christian all in one day.” I suppose that 
she meant that the physical strain was so great that 
she would be very apt to act as though her religion had 
little effect upon her temper. I wonder if that is why 
so many professedly Christian people get the credit 
of being very cranky. I wonder if what is really the 
matter with them is not that their little craft carries no 
Plimsoll mark. No load-limit has been established. 
They try to wash, iron and be a Christian all in one 
day, with the result that the Christian’s reputation suf¬ 
fers considerable damage. There is no question re¬ 
specting their goodness; but it is undeniable that they 
are not easy to live with. Sometimes I suspect that 
they are inclined to think that the hostility of certain 
people towards them is due to hostility towards re¬ 
ligion; when, in reality, it is a protest against loading 
the ship in defiance of the Plimsoll line. 

I should be very sorry to think that any reader of 
these Meditations might gather from these words of 
mine that I believe that Divine help is not supplied in 
our hour of need. I know by experience that it is; 
[252] 


Our Load-Limit 


but I also know that we have no mandate from our 
Lord to lead us to suppose that when we go on, year 
after year, violating the laws which govern the human 
body, God is going to perform a miracle, and bring 
our little ship and its cargo safe into port. God does 
perform miracles, but not for persistent and unre¬ 
pentant sinners against His expressed will. And the 
laws which govern the human body are just an expres¬ 
sion of His will. One poor fellow, whom the Master 
healed, was bid: “Go, sin no more lest a worse thing 
come upon thee.” Some of us to whom life is left 
have a very wholesome respect for the load-limit, for 
we have learned that failure to observe the Plimsoll 
mark generally spells disaster. 

I have seen ships brought into port when every 
“sailor man” was amazed at the sight, and when every 
whistle and horn in the harbour was sounding a wel¬ 
come. Good seamanship had brought to a safe anchor¬ 
age a ship that had been given up as lost. And I have 
known a few men who worked on, in spite of warn¬ 
ings but under the call of duty, and who have by care¬ 
ful “navigation” been able to accomplish what ap¬ 
peared to be two men’s work, but these are exceptional 
cases. The danger is that we regard ourselves as 
being safe in ignoring the load-limit. 

I have an idea that the Plimsoll line on a ship is de¬ 
pendent, to some extent, upon the efficiency of her 
master and crew. If I am not mistaken, they are taken 
into consideration when that fateful mark is made upon 
her hull; but I am sure of this, that the soul’s load- 
limit depends upon who is captain of the ship. The 

[253] 


The Glory of His Robe 

soul that has been entrusted to Christ, that is drawing 
upon Him for wisdom and help, that realises that His 
grace is sufficient for him and that in weakness he is 
made strong—that soul can carry a bigger load of 
care, suffering and sorrow than many another craft 
that seems of little worth in the eyes of the experienced 
man of the world. 

“Simple rule and safest guiding. 

Inward peace and inward might, 

Star upon our path abiding— 

‘Trust in God and do the right/ ” 


[254] 


XLVIII 


AN ATTRACTIVE RELIGION 

I READ something the other day that pleased me 
mightily. It is to be found in Mark Guy Pearse’s 
story of Daniel Quorm and his religious notions. He 
describes a certain Widow Pascoe, whose conception 
of the road to heaven was that “it was walled up like 
the cities of Anak, and plenty of broken glass upon 
the top of the walls would have been a real consola¬ 
tion to her mind. She would have had the entrance 
gate covered with spikes, and surrounded with notices 
of spring-guns and man-traps, and warnings that tres¬ 
passers would be prosecuted with the utmost rigour of 
the law. ... It was meal-time to her when, like Ruth, 
she could come hither and dip her parched corn in 
the vinegar . . . then she did eat and was sufficed and 
left. ,, There are still a few folks who like sour pickles, 
but such people do not make good travelling repre¬ 
sentatives of the religion of Jesus Christ. 

There are very few business houses that desire 
gloomy forbidding countenances to figure in any photo¬ 
graph which announces that these individuals are con¬ 
nected with the business. On all hands we demand 
that the people who deal with the public shall be men 
and women of a pleasant countenance. It seems to 
be quite as reasonable a demand that the representa- 

[ 255 ] 


The Glory of His Robe 

tives of Jesus Christ shall show, in their very faces, 
that they are possessed of something that makes life 
brighter and sweeter. I do not suppose that I could 
ever be a member of the Salvation Army, but I like 
to look at the Army on the street. They always give 
me the impression that they keep away from the 
vinegar jug. I lived for a short time in a Quaker 
settlement. Whether it was due to the fact that the 
women all wore poke bonnets, and that a face that is 
passably good-looking has its beauty accentuated by the 
style of headgear, or whether it was due to the other 
fact that I was young and somewhat impressible, I 
retain a very pleasant recollection of the attractiveness 
of their religious life as revealed by the countenance. 

“The lives of Christians is the only Bible that some 
people read,” so writes one religious author. Many 
years ago a greater authority declared: “Ye are the 
epistle of Christ.” There was a day before the advent 
of the typewriter when a letter was much more diffi¬ 
cult to read than it is to-day. Poor penmanship and 
punctuation, faulty spelling and blotted paper made the 
task of deciphering the message a very difficult and 
tedious one. The typewriter has done much to remedy 
this state of things, and thus we often miss the full 
import of the Apostolic statement. It is a solemnising 
thought that the Christian man or woman is regarded 
by others as “living letters.” There is little difficulty 
in reading them, and most people feel quite competent 
to undertake the task. But all my readers have no¬ 
ticed that some messages are more attractive than 
others. 

[256] 


An Attractive Religion 

Well now, what is the peculiar attraction of the 
religion of Jesus Christ, of which His followers are 
the epistles? I am not going to tell you that religion 
is very apt to make a man honest; for I recognise that 
many a man who makes no claim to being religious- 
is quite honest in his dealings with his fellow-men. 
Neither shall I speak of its influence upon morality in 
general; for you may have a morality that is divorced 
from religion. Nor shall I tell you that the chief 
glory of the Christian religion is to make men unself¬ 
ish, though I believe that the Gospel has done more 
along these lines than any other influence in the world. 
Yet we may find, in every community in Canada, men 
who do not acknowledge Christ as Saviour and Mas¬ 
ter who are kindly in word and act. What I am going 
to declare is worthy of honest consideration. “The 
personal relation between the soul and Christ is the 
underground spring which makes possible the growth 
of all the virtues.” 

There is a great difference between religion and re¬ 
ligiosity. The first lays the emphasis upon duty, the 
second upon sentiment. Now a religion without senti¬ 
ment is a very cold and heartless thing; but a religion 
that is all sentiment is not likely to affect life very 
beneficially. When duty is steeped in love you have 
the fundamental peculiarity of the Christian religion. 
Love for Him who died is that which leads to obedi¬ 
ence to Him that liveth. It is the Cross of sacrifice 
that gives Christianity such a power over the hearts of 
men. And that is quite understandable, for the hu¬ 
man heart is conscious of sin. There are times when 

[257] 


The Glory of His Robe 

the burden of guilt is overwhelming. The soul that 
is able to cast the burden upon the Great Sin-Bearer 
passes through an experience which is rightly called 
the new birth, in which old things pass away and all 
things become new. In that hour there is born not 
simply a new desire—the desire to please the Divine 
substitute—but the consciousness of a new power, the 
certainty that the pardoned sinner is linked in some 
mysterious fashion with Him who conquered evil, 
proved His worthiness to be a sacrifice on behalf of 
the sinner, and has come back from the grave to assure 
men that the penalty has been met for all who accept 
Him as their Saviour, and moreover is ready to aid 
them to make good in the struggle for a noble man¬ 
hood. 

It is this underground spring that starts all the vir¬ 
tues blooming. The new birth transforms life. It 
glorifies character. This combination of the senti¬ 
mental and the ethical produces the most wonderfully 
-attractive characters that the world contains. It is the 
chief attraction of the religion of Jesus Christ. You 
frequently notice that the water springs become 
•choked and have to be opened afresh. When a boy I 
went down into the old well once just to clear the 
spring at the bottom, and afterwards for several days 
we carried water from another well. But the atten¬ 
tion did the well good. Many a soul would be bene¬ 
fited by a cleansing that gives that wonderful con¬ 
sciousness of fellowship with Christ an opportunity to 
take possession of the heart. Our old well filled up 
with clear, cold water once the spring was cleared; 

[2 S 8] 


An Attractive Religion 

and when the soul lives in constant fellowship with 
Jesus Christ the whole life will become wonderfully 
attractive. But you cannot have an attractive religion 
without Divine co-operation any more than you can 
grow palm trees in the desert without water-springs to 
satisfy their thirst. 


[259] 


XLIX 


THE CARE OF GOD 

I RECALL reading of an incident which occurred 
during the war in a historic church in Ayr, Scot¬ 
land. The story was first published in the Kilmar¬ 
nock Standard and, as I happen to have been born 
there the fact that the name of “Robbie Burns’ toon” 
is attached to the newspaper caught my attention. 
Here is the article in part: “The war lies very near to 
the heart at the present time; and whether the heart 
is the seat of the emotions or not, the well-springs of 
the emotions are very sympathetic with it. The con¬ 
gregation had already sung that beautiful little Psalm, 
the 12ist, T to the hills will lift mine eyes,’ to the 
tune, ‘French.’ The Psalm and the tune go together. 
They always do. The one is simple and the other is 
simple, and the flowing measure of the tune suffices 
to bring out the beauties of the Psalm. Nearly every 
Scottish child knows T to the hills.’ It takes rank 
with The Lord is my Shepherd,’ and ‘All people that 
on earth do dwell.’ 

“The Lord thee keeps; the Lord thy shade 
On thy right hand doth stay; 

The moon by night thee shall not smite 
Nor yet the sun by day. 

[260] 


The Care of God 

The Lord shall keep thy soul; He shall 
Preserve thee from all ill. 

Henceforth thy going out and in 
God keep forever will.” 

‘The congregation sang the Psalm. It went war- 
wards to a young Highlander who had been wounded 
in a recent battle and lay stretched on the field. Some¬ 
where in the north of Scotland he had learned ‘I to 
the hills’ in Gaelic, and of course the Gaelic version of 
it was as sweet to him as ours is to us. He began to 
sing the old Psalm, and out over the field his singing 
reached as far as his voice would carry. One can 
imagine the effect upon the wounded Scots lying 
around. It was childhood and the days of youth over 
again. It was the enshrinement of memories and as¬ 
sociations. It was a present help in the day of trouble. 
Then came by a Scottish regiment marching, and the 
men heard it, and felt it; and one of them on his way 
back from the conflict noted the spot from which the 
sound proceeded. At night he went back to look for 
the singer. All was quiet. The stars were shining 
down. The rage of battle had ceased. The High¬ 
lander wandered backwards and forwards looking for 
the singer who had ceased to sing and lay quiet. So 
the searcher raised his own voice. ‘Sing it again, lad¬ 
die,’ he called out; ‘sing it again!’ and the laddie, hear¬ 
ing, responded, and sang on till the searcher found 
him and carried him back to the base. And now he is 
once more at home, wounded, and in the North Coun- 
trie. He had not slumbered who kept him. ‘Let us 
sing the Psalm again,’ concluded the minister. The 
[26!] 


The Glory of His Robe 

organ rolled out the old tune, but when the time came 
for the voices to join there were very few that were 
able to do it.” 

I have not dared to curtail the article more, for I 
realise that the story has an appeal in it that is greater 
than anything that I can write; and I have been think¬ 
ing of lonely and anxious hearts amongst my readers 
who need the strength and comfort that the sense of 
God’s care always gives. Life is hard for a great 
many. The burdens they have to bear bruise their 
spirits. Anxieties fret their souls. Sorrows break 
their hearts. What shall I say to folks like that? 
Thank God I have a message: “The Lord thee keeps.” 

The personal care of God is taught from one end of 
the Bible to the other. God is a person. Man is made 
in His image and is the object of His love. There 
are some folks who would have us believe that the 
great God is too exalted to have very much concern 
about the children of men; but the man who has learned 
the Scotch version of the Psalms in his boyhood or 
who has followed the noble declarations of the prayer 
book of the Church of England, who has read the his¬ 
tory of the patriarchs and saints of Old Testament 
days or who has had any dealings with Him at all, 
knows that the interest of God in men is very real and 
personal. 

There are times when the wonder of the Divine care 
for us is simply overwhelming. Once out at sea, with 
waters all about me and the firmament above me, there 
came upon my soul a sense of the wonder of the in¬ 
terest of God in men. There rang in my brain the 
[262] 


The Care of God 

words of the ancient Hebrew poet! “What is man 
that Thou art mindful of him, and the son of man 
that Thou shouldst visit him ?” And soon the stars of 
night began to march out; and as I gazed upwards into 
that vast profound, I could almost fancy E'liphaz ask¬ 
ing his old question: “Is not God in the height of 
Heaven? And behold the height of the stars, how 
high they are. And thou sayest: What doth God 
know? Can He judge through the thick darkness?” 
Out on that great expanse of waters the sense of a 
mighty power that guided the stars in their courses 
was very real. But does He care for me?—that was 
the question that filled my soul. 

Now there is no more satisfactory answer to that 
question than that which was brought to us by Jesus 
Christ. He taught us to call God Father. That very 
epithet is a guarantee of loving care. Do you want 
another assurance of it? Read the sixth chapter of 
Matthew. Allow it to fill your mind and to stir your 
heart. Take up the various expressions one by one: 
“Your Father,” “thy Father,” “your Father knoweth 
that ye have need of these things,” “Your Heavenly 
Father feedeth them. Are ye not much better than 
they?” What a wonderful procession of comfort- 
bringers! Then remember the declaration, made with 
such tremendous assurance by the Apostle Paul, in the 
eighth chapter of Romans: “He that spared not His 
own Son, but freely delivered Him up for us all, how 
shall He not with Him freely give us all things?” 
God does care. Yes! He cares for the individual. 
Calvary bears witness to that heartening truth. 

[263] 


The Glory of His Robe 

And yet, although God is our Father, there are times 
when we have to suffer. One day I met a little chap 
of my acquaintance marching along by his father’s 
side. His cheeks were tear-stained. I asked him where 
he was going. He replied: “I’m goin’ to the dentist, 
I’m goin’ to get a toof out. Daddy says it’s goin’ to 
hurt. I’m not ’fraid. Daddy’s goin’ to hold my hand.” 
Dear little lad, he taught some older folks a lesson 
that day. 

“Yea, though I walk in death’s dark vale, 

Yet will I fear none ill; 

For Thou art with me, and Thy rod 
And staff me comfort still.” 

He is our Father, and that means even more than 
Shepherd. Wisdom, care, love of the tenderest sort— 
these are found in our Father; and He is true enough, 
and rich enough, and mighty enough to fulfil all His 
promises. 


[264] 


L 


THE TRANSFORMING TOUCH 

I AM not acquainted with the contents of the school 
books of to-day; but there was one story, told in 
one of the old readers in use in the days of my boy¬ 
hood, which was very fascinating in its character. It 
is told by Nathaniel Hawthorne, the famous American 
writer, who founds it upon an old Greek myth. King 
Midas lost his soul to love of gold, and was given the 
golden touch—the power to transform everything he 
touched into gold. He touches books—their wisdom 
is lost in gold. He touches flowers—their fragrance 
and beauty are lost in gold. He touches his little 
daughter, Marigold, and she too turns to gold. Wis¬ 
dom, beauty, love fall before the all-consuming power 
of gold. It is a startling story, which, however, has 
a message for our own day. 

But I am not going to discuss the curse of possessing 
the power to transform everything into gold. I have 
a better theme. To-day I want to meditate a wee bit 
about the transformation of character, and the part 
which some folks play in it. No doubt many of my 
readers have been impressed with the fact that some 
employers are able to get a great deal more out of 
their employes than some others. They seem to evoke 
a loyalty, an affection, a service, which many a man 

[265] 


The Glory of His Robe 

would give much to possess. We have seen the germs 
of that loyalty in the life of the child who has just 
begun to attend school. Some teachers call it out in 
a wonderful way. They possess a sympathy and love 
to which the child responds instinctively. And men 
and women are just grown-up children. Any trans¬ 
formation of character is generally accomplished 
through the influence of others who love them, are 
ready to sacrifice for them, and rejoice over every step 
of progress which they make upwards. 

There has just come into my hands a little book 
written for boys by Archer Wallace. It is published 
by the Missionary Education Movement, and tells the 
story of Canadian heroes of mission fields overseas. 
Eight Canadians, who served as missionaries, are 
chosen as typical of the class of worker who is carry¬ 
ing the Gospel to the dark corners of the earth. It is 
interesting to study the secret of the success which has 
attended the efforts of Canada’s sons. Every one of 
the men whose work is described in this little book, 
from Herbert Girling who had only about three years 
service, to Virgil C. Hart, with thirty-five years to his 
credit, seems to have been strong in affectional power. 
He loved folks, and it was love for folks that led him 
to sacrifice ease and comfort for the sake of carrying 
to others that Gospel, which had brought health and 
healing tp his own soul. 

One of the stories in the book makes a strong ap¬ 
peal to my mind. One of these Canadian heroes, who 
was on his way to the mission field, was offered a 
salary of $10,000 per year if he would abandon his 
[266] 


The Transforming Touch 

purpose to undertake the duties of physician and 
surgeon to a mining camp. Forty years ago that was 
counted a big salary. What enthusiasm must have 
burned in the soul of Davidson MacDonald when he 
hesitated not a moment, but saw in the mission-field, 
rather than in the mining camp, his greatest oppor¬ 
tunity for helping folks. During his many years of 
service in Japan, in addition to missionary practice he 
had many opportunities of serving Americans and 
Europeans resident in the country; and it is bracing 
to learn that this doctor, who might have had $10,000 
a year, turned over all his fees to the Board which sent 
him out, for the purpose of extending the work which 
he had at heart—and some of these fees were mu¬ 
nificent. 

The story of John Geddie, the heroic missionary to 
the South Sea Islands, is told in such a fashion as to 
put iron into your blood; and your heart will ache in 
sympathy with John E. Davis, the leper-hero of South 
India. Walter T. Currie, the man who helped to light 
up West Africa, Charles N. Mitchell, the beloved Don 
Carlos of Bolivia, and William J. McKenzie, a trail- 
ranger in Korea, are described in such a fashion as to 
cause the reader to feel proud that these men were sons 
of Canada. But what gives this little volume its great¬ 
est interest to me just now is the fact that here and 
there it discloses the quality of soul which made these 
Canadian Missionary heroes such effective workers. 
They loved folks. It is that which has lifted them up 
to a place of renown amongst their fellow-countrymen. 
In some cases the biographer frankly states that his 

[267] 


The Glory of His Robe 

hero was not clever, but he glorifies his burning heart. 

I wonder if the tender, sympathetic heart is not in¬ 
dispensable to the transforming touch. We are all 
aware that it is God who transforms a vile sinner into 
an heir of glory; but God uses means. There are 
some folks who, with the very best intentions, seem 
to do a lot of mischief. Do you remember how in 
“Oliver Twist,” Dickens makes one of his characters, 
Rose Mayhew, in the sweetness of her pure girlhood, 
touch the soiled, warped soul of poor Nancy? Nancy 
burst into tears. “Oh! Lady, lady,” she cried, clasp¬ 
ing her hands passionately before her face, “if there 
were more like you, there would be fewer like me, 
there would, there would!” 

Have you ever felt that quality of a man’s char¬ 
acter may be detected in his very hand-shake? When 
I was a young man, I attended a church where there 
was a sunny-faced usher. He had the finest hand¬ 
shake that I ever felt. You could not help feeling that 
there was more than physical contact in that hand¬ 
shake. The spirit behind it gave significance to the 
touch. It was no limp, perfunctory, fish-tail shake; 
his whole soul went into it. I used to seek the door 
at which he was stationed, for I did delight in his 
hearty welcome. It was when I heard him pray that 
I got to know the secret of his brotherly touch. He 
was a man who lived near God. He had real fellow¬ 
ship with Jesus Christ. That Heavenly comradeship 
reacted upon his character and got into his very touch: 
and I have been thinking, as I recall the influence of 
that man, that many another individual, who may 
[268] 


The Transforming Touch 

never be very wise nor very wealthy, may after all at¬ 
tain the power of that golden touch, which awakens 
to life beauties of soul which lie dormant in other 
lives. “No longer I, but Christ who liveth in me.” 


THE END 


[269] 





\ 
























Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: Nov. 2005 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN PAPER PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township. PA 16066 
(724) 779-2111 




V 










